"This is entirely an informal gathering," he said. "I shall summon the Council to come together tomorrow at midday."

"I think that we may sleep in our beds to-night without fear of molestation," the Bishop remarked, "although if it had been the wish of the meeting, I would have broached the matter to Mr. Stenson."

"You are an honorary member of the Council," Fenn declared rudely. "We don't wish interference. This is a national and international Labour movement."

"I am a member of the Labour Party of Christ," the Bishop said quietly.

"And an honoured member of this Executive Council," Cross intervened.

"You're a bit too glib with your tongue to-night, Fenn."

"I think of those whom I represent," was the curt reply. "They are toilers, and they want the toilers to show their power. They don't want help from the Church. I'll go even so far," he added, "as to say that they don't want help from literature. It's their own job. They've begun it, and they want to finish it."

"To-morrow's meeting," Furley observed, "will show how far you are right in your views. I consider my position, and the Bishop's, as members of the Labour Party, on a par with your own. I will go further and say that the very soul of our Council is embodied in the teachings and the writings of Paul Fiske, or, as we now know him to be, Julian Orden."

Fenn rose to his feet. He was trembling with pa.s.sion.

"This informal meeting is adjourned," he announced harshly.

Cross himself did not move.

"Adjourned or not it may be, Mr. Fenn," he said, "but it's no place of yours to speak for it. You've thrust yourself into that chair, but that don't make you chairman, now or at any other time."

Fenn choked down the words which had seemed to tremble on his lips. His enemies he knew, but there were others here who might yet be neutral.

"If I have a.s.sumed more than I should have done, I am sorry," he said. "I brought you news which I was in a hurry to deliver. The rest followed."

The little company rose to their feet and moved towards the door, exchanging whispered comments concerning the news which Catherine had brought. She herself crossed the room and confronted Fenn.

"There is still something to be said about that news," she declared.

Fenn's attempt at complete candour was only partially convincing.

"There is not the slightest reason," he declared, "why anything concerning Julian Orden should be concealed from any member of the Council who desires information. If you will follow me into my private room, Miss Abbeway, and you, Furley, I shall be glad to tell you our exact position. And if the Bishop will accompany you," he added, turning to the latter, "I shall be honoured."

Furley made no reply, but, whispering something in Catherine's ear, took up his hat and left the room. The other two, however, took Fenn at his word, followed him into his room, accepted the chairs which he placed for them, and waited while he spoke through a telephone to the private exchange situated in the building.

"They tell me," he announced, as he laid down the instrument, "that Bright has this moment returned and is now on his way upstairs."

Catherine shivered.

"Is Mr. Bright that awful-looking person who came to the last Council meeting?"

"He is probably the person you mean," Fenn a.s.sented. "He takes very little interest in our executive work, but he is one of the most brilliant scientists of this or any other generation. The Government has already given him three laboratories for his experiments, and nearly every gas that is being used at the Front has been prepared according to his formula."

"A master of horrors," the Bishop murmured.

"He looks it," Catherine whispered under her breath.

There was a knock at the door, a moment or two later, and Bright entered. He was a little over medium height, with long and lanky figure, a p.r.o.nounced stoop, and black, curly hair of coa.r.s.e quality. His head, which was thrust a little forward, perhaps owing to his short-sightedness, was long, his forehead narrow, his complexion a sort of olive-green. He wore huge, disfiguring spectacles, and he had the protuberant lips of a negro. He greeted Catherine and the Bishop absently and seemed to have a grievance against Fenn.

"What is it you want, Nicholas?" he asked impatiently. "I have some experiments going on in the country and can only spare a minute."

"The Council has rescinded its instructions with regard to Julian Orden," Fenn announced, "and is anxious to have him brought before them at once. As you know, we are for the moment powerless in the matter.

Will you please explain to Miss Abbeway and the Bishop here just what has been done?"

"It seems a waste of time," Bright replied ill-naturedly, "but here is the story. Julian Orden left his rooms at a quarter to six on Thursday evening. He walked down to St. James's Street and turned into the Park.

Just as he pa.s.sed the side door of Marlborough House he was attacked by a sudden faintness."

"For which, I suppose," the Bishop interrupted, "you were responsible."

"I or my deputy," Bright replied. "It doesn't matter which. He was fortunate enough to be able to hail a pa.s.sing taxicab and was driven to my house in Hampstead. He has spent the intervening period, until three o'clock this afternoon, in a small laboratory attached to the premises."

"A compulsory stay, I presume?" the Bishop ventured.

"A compulsory stay, arranged for under instructions from the Council,"

Bright a.s.sented, in his hard, rasping voice. "He has been most of the time under the influence of some new form of anaesthetic gas with which I have been experimenting. To-night, however, I must have made a mistake in my calculations. Instead of remaining in a state of coma until midnight, he recovered during my absence and appears to have walked out of the place."

"You have no idea where he is at the present moment, then?" Catherine asked.

"Not the slightest," Bright a.s.sured her. "I only know that he left the place without hat, gloves, or walking stick. Otherwise, he was fully dressed, and no doubt had plenty of money in his pocket."

"Is he likely to have any return of the indisposition from which, owing to your efforts, he has been suffering?" the Bishop enquired.

"I should say not," was the curt answer. "He may find his memory somewhat affected temporarily. He ought to be able to find his way home, though. If not, I suppose you'll hear of him through the police courts or a hospital. Nothing that we have done," he added, after a moment's pause, "is likely to affect his health permanently in the slightest degree."

"You now know all that there is to be known, Miss Abbeway," Fenn said.

"I agree with you that it is highly desirable that Mr. Orden should be found at once, and if you can suggest any way in which I might be of a.s.sistance in discovering his present whereabouts, I shall be only too glad to help. For instance, would you like me to telephone to his rooms?"

Catherine rose to her feet.

"Thank you, Mr. Fenn," she said, "I don't think that we will trouble you. Mr. Furley is making enquiries both at Mr. Orden's rooms and at his clubs."

"You are perfectly satisfied, so far as I am concerned, I trust?" he persisted, as he opened the door for them.

"Perfectly satisfied," Catherine replied, looking him in the face, "that you have told us as much as you choose to for the present."

Fenn closed the door behind Catherine and the Bishop and turned back into the room. Bright laughed at him unpleasantly.

"Love affair not going so strong, eh?"

Fenn threw himself into his chair, took a cigarette from a paper packet, and lit it.

"Blast Julian Orden!" he muttered.

"No objection," his friend yawned. "What's wrong now?"

"Haven't you heard the news? It seems he's the fellow who has been writing those articles on Socialism and Labour, signing them 'Paul Fiske.' Idealistic rubbish, but of course the Bishop and his lot are raving about him."

"I've read some of his stuff," Bright admitted, himself lighting a cigarette; "good in its way, but old-fashioned. I'm out for something a little more than that."