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Chapter 8
Ipickedupthetelephonebookandlookedupthenumberofhishouse.Wewereconnectedatonce,andIheardaservant’svoice.
“IshisLordshipathome?”Iasked.
“HisLordshipreturnedhalfanhourago,”saidthevoice,“andhasgonetobed.Heisnotverywelltonight.Willyouleaveamessage,sir?”
Irangoffandalmosttumbledintoachair.Mypartinthisbusinesswasnotyetended.Ithadbeenacloseshave,butIhadbeenintime.
Notamomentcouldbelost,soImarchedboldlytothedoorofthatbackroomandenteredwithoutknocking.
Fivesurprisedfaceslookedupfromaroundtable.TherewasSirWalter,andDrewtheWarMinister,whomIknewfromhisphotographs.Therewasaslimelderlyman,whowasprobablyWhittaker,theAdmiraltyofficial,andtherewasGeneralWinstanley,conspicuousfromthelongscaronhisforehead.Lastly,therewasashortstoutmanwithaniron-greymoustacheandbushyeyebrows,whohadbeenarrestedinthemiddleofasentence.
SirWalter’sfaceshowedsurpriseandannoyance.
“ThisisMrHannay,ofwhomIhavespokentoyou,”hesaidapologeticallytothecompany.“I’mafraid,Hannay,thisvisitisill-timed.”
Iwasgettingbackmycoolness.“Thatremainstobeseen,sir,”Isaid;“butIthinkitmaybeinthenickoftime.ForGod’ssake,gentlemen,tellmewhowentoutaminuteago?”
“LordAlloa,”SirWaltersaid,reddeningwithanger.
“Itwasnot,”Icried;“itwashislivingimage,butitwasnotLordAlloa.Itwassomeonewhorecognizedme,someoneIhaveseeninthelastmonth
