“This, in a way, was inevitable,” Julian observed. “You remember the conversation, Bishop,” he added, “down at Maltenby?”
“Very well indeed,” the latter acquiesced.
“The country went into slavery,” Julian pronounced, “in August, 1915. That slavery may or may not be good for them. To be frank, I think it depends entirely upon the constitution of your Council. It is so much to the good, Bishop, that you are there.”
“Our Council, such as it is,” Fenn remarked acidly, “consists of men elected to their position by the votes of a good many millions of their fellow toilers.”
“The people may have chosen wisely,” was the grave reply, “or they may have made mistakes. Such things have been known. By the bye, I suppose that my durance is at an end?”
“It is at an end, whichever way you decide,” Catherine declared. “Now that you know everything, though, you will not hesitate to give up the packet?”
“You shall have it,” he agreed. “I will give it back into your hands.”
“The sooner the better!” Fenn exclaimed eagerly. “And, Mr. Orden, one word.”
Julian was standing amongst them now, very drawn and pale in the dim halo of light thrown down from the hanging lamp. His answering monosyllable was cold and restrained.
“I trust you will understand,” Fenn continued, “that Bright and I were simply carrying out orders. To us you were an enemy. You had betrayed the trust of one of our members. The prompt delivery of that packet meant the salvation of thousands of lives. It meant a cessation of this ghastly world tragedy. We were harsh, perhaps, but we acted according to orders.”
Julian glanced at the hand which Fenn had half extended but made no movement to take it. He leaned a little upon the Bishop’s arm.
“Help me out of this place, sir, will you?” he begged. “As for Fenn and that other brute, what I have to say about them will keep.”
It was a little more than half an hour later when Julian ascended the steps of his club in Pall Mall and asked the hall porter for letters. Except that he was a little paler than usual and was leaning more heavily upon his stick, there was nothing about his appearance to denote several days of intense strain. There was a shade of curiosity, mingled with surprise, in the commissionaire’s respectful greeting.