But in that fraction of time something sprang into his eyes, and that
something was recognition. You can't mistake it. It is a flicker, a
spark of light, a minute shade of difference which means one thing
and one thing only. It came involuntarily, for in a moment it died,
and he passed on. In a maze of wild fancies I heard the street door
close behind him.
I picked up the telephone book and looked up the number of his
house. We were connected at once, and I heard a servant's voice.
'Is his Lordship at home?' I asked.
'His Lordship returned half an hour ago,' said the voice, 'and has
gone to bed. He is not very well tonight. Will you leave a
message, Sir?'
I rang off and almost tumbled into a chair. My part in this
business was not yet ended. It had been a close shave, but I had
been in time.
Not a moment could be lost, so I marched boldly to the door of
that back room and entered without knocking.
Five surprised faces looked up from a round table. There was
Sir Walter, and Drew the War Minister, whom I knew from his
photographs. There was a slim elderly man, who was probably
Whittaker, the Admiralty official, and there was General Winstanley,
conspicuous from the long scar on his forehead. Lastly,
there was a short stout man with an iron-grey moustache and
bushy eyebrows, who had been arrested in the middle of a sentence.
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