"Read it for yourself," Lord Warnham answered, glancing at the Premier to ascertain whether this course received his approbation, and finding that it did, he handed me the dispatch, which I found a moment later read as follows:-- "_From Marquis of Worthorpe, Paris, to Earl of Warnham, Her Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.--My Lord,--In further continuation of my dispatch of this morning, I have the honour to report to your Lordship that the war preparations actively commenced here on receipt of a telegram from St Petersburg (copy of which was enclosed in my last dispatch) have, owing to a later telegram from Russia, been entirely stopped. The orders for mobilisation have everywhere been countermanded. According to a statement just made to me by our secret agent in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the French Government have to-day received word that the Tzar's declaration of war will not, for some unexplained reason, be published. I send this by special messenger in the hope that it will reach your Lordship this evening_.--Worthorpe." "This is remarkable!" I cried. "It appears as if Russia has already repented." But the Premier and his colleague, at that moment in consultation regarding the steps to be taken should this astounding and reassuring news prove correct, did not notice my remark. Presently, however, the Prime Minister, turning to me, asked,-- "Are any of the reporters your personal friends, Deedes?" "Yes, I know several." "To whom shall we make our statement?" he inquired. "We want it spread throughout the country." "In that case I should suggest Mr Johns, of the agency that supplies the club tapes and newspapers." "Then send for him." At once I went to the door and dispatched the messenger waiting outside to find that well-known figure of the Reporters' Gallery, who makes it his boast that for years without a break he had sat through every sitting of the House of Commons, and whose friends have a legend that he can enjoy a sleep in his "box" over the Speaker's chair and awake at the very moment any question of public interest arises. Ten minutes had elapsed when the chosen representative of the Press entered, hot and breathless, bowing to their Lordships. He was spare, dark-haired, with sharp, aquiline features, a breadth of forehead that denoted considerable learning, a pointed, dark-brown beard, and a pair of sharp, penetrating eyes. He spoke with a broad Scotch accent, his sallow face betraying signs of considerable excitement. "I desire, Mr Johns, to make a statement to the Press, and have sent for you with that object," exclaimed the Minister for Foreign Affairs, glancing up at him. "With pleasure, my Lord," exclaimed the reporter, taking from his pocket a pencil and a few loose sheets of "copy paper." "I'm quite ready."