Upon his table a time-honoured device constructed of brass and wood was designed to hold the newspaper while the tenant of that historic house might be at meals. Upon this was propped up, open at the leading page, a copy of the _Times_. The leaders were discreet. He found no word from beginning to end, save a little note in small type to the effect that Sir Charles Repton would be unable to speak at the great Wycliffite Congress, he was confined to the house with influenza; a similar note he was assured had appeared in all the eleven newspapers upon the official list, and through them would be distributed to the provincial press; the only thing left to the discretion of their editorial departments being the disease from which the distinguished patient might be suffering, which appeared in one as phlebitis, in another as tracheotomy, and in a third as a severe cold. Of Demaine not a word. Dolly thanked Heaven for the discipline which makes the Press of London the most powerful instrument of Government in the world. His thanks were premature; and the gentle, somewhat mournful atheism which was his only creed received excellent support when he saw among certain items of news which were laid upon his table every morning, two cuttings from foreign papers which told at great length and in the plainest details the whole story of the dreadful episode in the City, and connected it in so many words with the scandalous scene in the House of Commons. He could only comfort himself by reflecting that news which leaked out abroad was rarely if ever permitted to enter the Island. He reflected that time is a remedy for all evils, and he made ready for the duties of the day. * * * * * Meanwhile his secretary, Edward,--to give him his full title, Teddy Evans--had come to the first of the two offices which it was his business to visit. It was not yet nine o’clock and there was still time to cut on the machine. At the Treasury Evans had written regularly for a large evening paper,--he knew his way about such an organism. He betrayed no undue haste, well knowing the subtle delight the menials would have before such a display of retarding his every effort, and when the fat man, Mr. Cerberus, who keeps the door of the _Capon_ offices, had pushed to him a dirty scrap of paper on which he was to write his name and business, he quietly asked for an envelope as well. It was given him with some grumbling. He wrote his message: “If you have begun machining, stop. I’ve been sent up here urgently.--E. E.”