“As I told you at Trant, I have no notion what hold Melun has over you. I can only see that it must be a hard and a very heavy one. You declined to believe that I was in reality Sir Paul Westerham. I cannot prove it to you yet until we find Lord Dunton. In the meantime, however, I will ask you if you think that the men who have assisted me to-day would be willing to do my bidding if they for a moment suspected that I was in league with any band of scoundrels. “With your own eyes you have seen Lowther and Mendip. Both men are known to you, both men are gentlemen, and I think you should take it for granted that if they are so kind as to assist me they are satisfied that I am doing what I should.” Lord Penshurst wrinkled up his brows. He could not quite understand how it had come about that such men as Lowther and Mendip were apparently working hand-in-glove with Westerham. “I trust,” he said, “that you have not been so indiscreet as to make mention of my affairs to these gentlemen?” “None whatever. They have taken the steps they have because they both trust Dunton to the utmost. And however much they may have been influenced by the hope of some fun, they were at least persuaded that there was a good and serious purpose at the back of this seemingly harum-scarum adventure.” Lord Penshurst could do nothing but gaze about him in a most distressed way, and Westerham sought to give him back his confidence as best he could. “I assure you, Lord Penshurst,” said Westerham, “that your only hope is to place yourself entirely in my hands. There is only one way out of your troubles; you must tell me the whole of your story, for I alone can save you. I alone know Melun, understand him, and know how to deal with him.” Again the Premier gazed about him wearily. “But Dunton,” he asked, “where is he? It is all very well for me to see Lowther and Mendip with you, but I must have Dunton's word that you are really the man you say you are.” “Good,” said Westerham; “I had already arranged, thinking that possibly you would prefer to be out of London, to take you down to Lord Dunton's yacht which is lying off Selsey Bill. However, if you prefer it, I will send for Dunton to come here.” “Very well,” said the Premier, “I think I would prefer that.” It was ten o'clock at night when Dunton arrived and was shown into Lowther's rooms. Dunton's story of Westerham was brief and to the point. At its conclusion the Premier bowed his head. “I capitulate, Sir Paul,” he said, “and I will tell you my secret.” Dunton nodded approval and walked out of the room, leaving Westerham and the Prime Minister alone. CHAPTER XXII THE PREMIERE'S STORY I have to confess that quite unintentionally I did my Government and my country a great wrong. In spite of all my very considerable experience, I did not see at the time the danger into which I was drifting, and I had gone too far to draw back when I realised with a shock the awful position in which I had placed myself.