"Of course you’re a born man of war," said Beadon. "Conflict braces you. You’ve got a tough job on to-night, though. To-night’s questions have been framed very carefully, and have a distinct challenge in them. Our opponents aren’t such fools as to think that even the British public—gullible enough, Heaven knows—would contemplate a Secretary of State giving away news about a Treaty before it had actually been framed. Unfortunately, a third Power is involved. The tie of blood which undoubtedly binds us to it has given the Opposition its opportunity of inflaming the country against us. The Press has taken the matter up, of course. What conscience-prick would it not stifle for the sake of a glaring headline or poster? You know, all of you, that we are hemmed in on all sides, that we are really in a tight place this time. The utmost tact has to be exercised to save our being involved in a big European war, as that third Power, which shall be nameless, has undoubtedly a right to expect its claims to weigh with us in our negotiations." "And the foreign Press, of course, is watching the issue of to-night’s debate with lynx-eyes—whelps of war waiting to spring the moment they are unleashed," put in Farquharson. "Farquharson trusts to his art of talking eloquently for hours without imparting one item of the required knowledge to carry him through to-night’s crisis," chuckled Creagh. Then, more seriously, "All the same, you’ve never been present at a real scene in the House, Farquharson—I don’t think you take the matter quite seriously enough. Beadon tells me that you haven’t even prepared your speech; that you’re trusting in that power of gripping the House, which has certainly so far never failed you." "But there’s another tiresome question involved—that of the letter of the impetuous Sovereign whose facility with the pen has already led him into such regrettable complications," drawled Meavy languidly. "The halfpenny papers make great capital out of that." "But that letter wasn’t written to Farquharson, but to Gaunt," said Creagh impatiently. "What has Farquharson to do with it?" "He sent me a copy, unluckily," said Farquharson. "You needn’t worry about that. It has never left my possession for a single instant. Personally, I should have torn it up, but our respected colleague thought it wise to keep a copy lest anything untoward should happen to the original." "You’ve got it locked up in there, I suppose?" said Beadon, pointing to the safe. "Well, that’s right, particularly as you always lock up this room now when you leave the house."