"The fact remains," said Meavy, "that no man of our time has ever been so fiercely abused as you by the Press I speak as one who knows, having had my share of it. I believe you’ve got a very dangerous enemy to deal with—the more dangerous because unknown. I think somebody has been stirring up the Press against you personally. Did you see that scurrilous article in the _Crystal_ last week? It almost said in plain words that you were not to be trusted. You see, one or two minor points have leaked out lately that had no business to have got published at all, and, unfortunately, they have been matters which concerned your department." Beadon shook his head. "Farquharson scoffs at all that; it is immaterial, though puzzling. Personally, I think they point the way to treachery, and in such cases"—he spoke very gravely—"one’s enemies are usually those of one’s own household. Farquharson has a large retinue of employés—I believe that one of them has been bought." "Impossible, my dear fellow," said Farquharson impatiently. "Your imagination runs away with you. The members of my household are kept very strictly in their own places, and I have every confidence in my secretaries. As far as the actual fight goes—well—it doesn’t bother me. Remember, I was never at a public school; I had to wait to see red until I was a man." Creagh frowned. "I agree with Meavy. You don’t take things seriously enough, Farquharson. You men of one idea, who go straight to the point and disregard all obstacles, are the very ones who trip over a mere stone in the path." Farquharson leant back in his chair and looked from one to the other, smiling. "Well, if I were ill at ease, your conversation is hardly likely to inspire me with confidence," he said. "You’re wrong, though—if there’s treachery anywhere it’s in the F.O. itself. After all, a good many people go in there on one plea or another, and other nations employ a very much greater number of secret agents than we do. As for to-night"—he rose and stretched himself—"I’m looking forward to my scrimmage. I may get a bit knocked about myself, but I shan’t let my opponents go unscathed." He looked at his watch. "I ought to be off now. Von Kirsch wants another interview; he’s ill in bed, poor chap. He had a motor accident the other day, you know. I can’t get down to him and back under three hours." "Isn’t that running things rather close? Better dine with me; it’s nearer the House," said Beadon. "Thanks," said Farquharson, "I think I’ll get a chop there instead. Time is short anyway, and one can’t hurry a sick man. I shan’t have more than ten minutes or so to spare for a meal. Good-bye, then, for the present." He went off whistling. Beadon looked after him, smiling affectionately. "He’s brightened up a lot lately. Success suits him." "You are the more troubled of the two about to-night," said Meavy, watching him intently.