That very train was carrying to Switzerland a Russian Grand Duke who had greeted him with a large smile and a "_Ah! ce bon Sypher!_" on the platform of the Gare de Lyon, and had presented him as the Friend of Humanity to the Grand Duchess.
To Sypher, lying on his back and dreaming of the days when through him the forced marches of weary troops would become light-hearted strolls along the road, the jealously guarded portals of the War Offices of the world presented no terrors.

He ticked off the countries in his mind until he came to Turkey.

Whom did he know in Turkey?
He had once given a certain Musurus Bey a light for his cigarette in the atrium of the Casino at Monte Carlo; but that could scarcely be called an introduction.

No matter; his star was now in the ascendant.

The Lord would surely provide a Turk for him in Geneva.