His great, cunning brain turned to the future--to that vast career which his stupendous egotism had painted for himself. His discovery was so epoch-making, so terrifying in its possibilities to civilization, that it had nonplussed him. It was too big to handle. He had made the greatest dynamic engine the world had seen--possibly the greatest it would ever see--and yet he knew that the Ambassador had laid his finger on the truth when he had said: "_Humanity would revolt! The man who knew the secret would be too dangerous to be at large!_" But with wealth--wealth enough to buy men and privilege--what might he not do? It would take time, and scheming, and secrecy, but he had them all. And the great secret was always his, and his alone! It would make him more powerful than Emperors, for he who possessed it, with the means to use it, could laugh at fleets and fortifications. Before the machines that he should build the greatest steel-clad that was ever floated would vanish like smoke! He clenched his great hands and his massive frame quivered. "The future, the future!" he said in a low, tense voice. "I shall be greater than Caesar, greater than Napoleon, for I shall hold the force that can make and unmake kings! So surely as force rules the world, so surely shall I, Bersonin, rule the world!" A knock came at the door and Phil entered. He was as pale as the doctor and his clothing was soaked with the rain. Without a word Bersonin locked the door, wheeled an arm-chair before the blaze, pushed him into it and mixed him a glass of spirits. Then he stood looking at him. "It's all right," said Phil. "The tripod fitted to a hair. It can't be seen from either side, and I've sent the boy away and locked the house." "Good," said Bersonin. "All is ready, then. The mechanism is set for the moment of daybreak. Our gains will be enormous, for in spite of the selling the market is up. There has been a little distrust of the situation here and there, though the optimists have had their way. And this latent distrust will add to the _débâcle_ when it comes. We are just in time, for the Squadron has its sailing-orders for to-morrow. Strange how near we were to failure! Who could have foreseen the death of the King? And the rains, too. They say it is doubtful if the trains will run to-morrow." Phil's hand, holding the drink, shook and wavered. "The damned clock-work in the thing!" he said. "I could hear it all the way--I thought every one would hear it. I can't get the ticking out of my brain!" He set down the glass and turned a glittering gaze on the other. "It's worth all that comes from it," he said. "You play me fair! Do you understand? You'll play me fair, or I'll settle with you!" The doctor smiled, a smile of horrible cunning. "As you settled with your brother?" he said. Phil shrank into the chair speechless, looking at him with trepidation in his eyes. The shot had gone home.