“Middle stump,” Cross acknowledged. “And since we are on the subject, my new friend, let me tell you this. To feel perfectly happy about this Council, there’s just three as I should like to see out of it--Fenn, Bright--and the young lady.” “Why the young lady?” Julian asked quickly. “You might as well ask me, ‘Why Fenn and Bright?’” the other replied. “I shouldn’t make no answer. We’re superstitious, you know, we north country folk, and we are all for instincts. All I can say to you is that there isn’t one of those three I’d trust around the corner.” “Miss Abbeway is surely above suspicion?” Julian protested. “She has given up a great position and devoted the greater part of her fortune towards the causes which you and I and all of us are working for.” “There’d be plenty of work for her in Russia just now,” Cross observed. “No person of noble birth,” Julian reminded him, “has the slightest chance of working effectively in Russia to-day. Besides, Miss Abbeway is half English. Failing Russia, she would naturally select this as the country in which she could do most good.” Some retort seemed to fade away upon the other’s lips. His shaggy eyebrows were drawn a little closer together as he glanced towards the door. Julian followed the direction of his gaze. Catherine had entered and was looking around as though in search of some one. Catherine was more heavily veiled than usual. Her dress and hat were of sombre black, and her manner nervous and disturbed. She came slowly towards their end of the table, although she was obviously in search of some one else. “Do you happen to know where Mr. Fenn is?” she enquired. Julian raised his eyebrows. “Fenn was here a few minutes ago,” he replied, “but he left us abruptly. I fancy that he rather disapproved of our conversation.” “He has gone to his room perhaps,” she said. “I will go upstairs.” She turned away. Julian, however, followed her to the door. “Shall I see you again before you leave?” he asked. “Of course--if you wish to.” There was a moment’s perceptible pause. “Won’t you come upstairs with me to Mr. Fenn’s room?” she continued. “Not if your business is in any way private.” She began to ascend the stairs. “It isn’t private,” she said, “but I particularly want Mr. Fenn to tell me something, and as you know, he is peculiar. Perhaps, if you don’t mind, it would be better if you waited for me downstairs.” Julian’s response was a little vague. She left him, however, without appearing to notice his reluctance and knocked at the door of Fenn’s room. She found him seated behind a desk, dictating some letters to a stenographer, whom he waved away at her entrance. “Delighted to see you, Miss Abbeway,” he declared impressively, “delighted! Come and sit down, please, and talk to me. We have had a tremendous morning. Even though the machine is all ready to start, it needs a watchful hand all the time.” She sank into the chair from which he had swept a pile of papers and raised her veil.