"Please wait a moment."
James Harris, Britain's newly appointed Foreign Secretary, was somewhat puzzled. He suspected he had injected too much morphine and was hallucinating.
James Harris took out an exquisite wooden box, its gilded patterns lending it an air of profound mystery.
With a soft snap, the wooden box opened, but there were no jewels or checks inside.
Lord Habescu could not help feeling somewhat disappointed. He might not necessarily have accepted it, but the other side ought to have at least had the intention.
In fact, after dealing with the British for so many years, the Austrians were thoroughly familiar with their methods. Bribery was simply routine.
Threats and inducements were the norm. For envoys of great powers, inducements were generally preferred; toward small countries and private groups, however, they were hardly so polite.
Inside the box lay a silver syringe. At the sight of it, Lord Habescu's scalp tingled. He had no desire to get an injection.
He could still feel the sensation of sharp metal piercing his skin.
Most of the earliest syringes had been made of silver, whereas those of the Austrian Empire were made of glass. This was because advanced craftsmanship had brought borosilicate glass into existence ahead of time.
At that moment, James Harris spat into his hand, then rubbed the needle with a saliva-wet finger.
Once he had made sure it was clean, he jabbed it straight into a small vial sealed with rubber. As he pulled the plunger, the sound of liquid being drawn out continued to ring forth.
Then the British man before him gave the syringe a shake, squeezed out a drop or two of liquid, and sniffed it. Only then did he nod in satisfaction.
He then plunged it into his own shoulder. As the plunger was slowly