“To tell him some news. Great news. Glorious news. I am the only one who has got it. The enemy have been weakening all the time--a rift within their lute. Rosenthal has backed out. Cleaver & Flyte are in a panic--Rosenthal was behind them, you know. The others can’t stand alone. It’s utter rout!” “But it’s too late!” exclaimed Lady Phayre, with a ring of dismay in her voice. “Haven’t you heard?” “It isn’t. Not yet,” replied Gleam animatedly. “The managers won’t declare till to-morrow morning--unless they are fools. But I have more precise news still. You did not let me finish,” he laughed apologetically. “They will give in all along the line if the men hold out another four-and-twenty hours.” “They must hold out,” cried Lady Phayre. “Oh, why isn’t Goddard there?” “Better he should be here--if I could only get at him. Wiring couldn’t have been definite enough. It’s not safe. Let me track him down, and off he goes by the midnight train, or the newspaper train, and then----” “He will win,” cried Lady Phayre exultantly. “Of course. Come, see, conquer. As easy as lying. That is why I have killed three cab horses under me to find him. I was in despair. I knew he had left Ecclesby. At his house they assured me he was not in London--did not expect him for a couple of days. No news at the clubs--his offices. Then I came here. Thank Heaven, he is in London, at any rate. If I can’t find him, some one else will have to go down.” “And Goddard lose his triumph after all? He must be found. Besides, they would not believe any one else.” “I was thinking of going myself, _en dernier ressort_,” said Gleam rather quizzically, “just as I am. I think they would believe me.” “So would the masters. A member of Parliament in dress clothes going about at six o’clock in the morning! Besides, you would catch your death of cold.” She laughed playfully, but she was trembling all through with suppressed joy. The knuckles of her hand, that held a futile ball of a handkerchief, were white. There was a little pause. She looked on the ground for a moment, then she lifted her long lashes, and regarded him half-shyly, with a smile playing round her lips. “What would you say if I told you where you can find him?” “Anything,” cried Gleam. “Where is he?” “At the Midland Grand Hotel.” She told the lie with astounding charm. He whipped up his hat from the table and turned towards her. “Why did I not come to you at once? You are not a woman, but an Immortal. A crisis--a time of difficulty--and you come out of a rosy cloud like an Homeric goddess.” Lady Phayre smiled on him divinely. She held out her hand. “I won’t keep you. I am as eager as you are.” In another minute she heard the wheels of his departing cab in the street below. She broke into a little ringing laugh: he had gone so promptly and unquestioningly on his fool’s errand. A woman in an exalted condition of mind has a queer sense of humour.