Chapter 21: XXI

XXI The Recovery of the Formula “Der liebe Gott!” said Herr Eberhard in a whisper. His face had gone chalky white. George turned a face of dignified reproach on Battle. “Is this true, Battle? I left all arrangements in your hands.” The rocklike quality of the Superintendent showed out well. Not a muscle of his face moved. “The best of us are defeated sometimes, sir,” he said quietly. “Then you mean—you really mean—that the document is gone?” But to everyone’s intens…