Many of the delegates had the air of being glad to escape for a few minutes from their tasks. One or two of them entered the room, carrying a cup of coffee or cocoa. Most of them were smoking. Fenn and Bright made their appearance last of all. The latter made a feeble attempt at a good-humoured remark. “Is this a pause for refreshments?” he asked. “If so, I’m on.” Julian, who had been waiting near the door, locked it. Fenn started. “What the devil’s that for?” he demanded. “Just a precaution. We don’t want to be interrupted.” Julian moved towards a little vacant space at the end of the table and stood there, his hands upon the back of a chair. The Bishop remained by his side, his eyes downcast as though in prayer. Catherine had accepted the seat pushed forward by Cross. The atmosphere of the room, which at first had been only expectant, became tense. “My friends,” Julian began, “a few hours ago you came to a momentous decision. You are all at work, prepared to carry that decision into effect. I have come to see you because I am very much afraid that we have been the victims of false statements, the victims of a disgraceful plot.” “Rubbish!” Fenn scoffed. “You’re ratting, that’s what you are.” “You’d better thank Providence,” Julian replied sternly, “that there is time for you to rat, too--that is, if you have any care for your country. Now, Mr. Fenn, I am going to ask you a question. You led us to believe, this evening, that, although all letters had been destroyed, you were in constant communication with Freistner. When did you hear from him last--personally, I mean?” “Last week,” Fenn answered boldly, “and the week before that.” “And you have destroyed those letters?” “Of course I have! Why should I keep stuff about that would hang me?” “You cannot produce, then, any communication from Freistner, except the proposals of peace, written within the last--say--month?” “What the mischief are you getting at?” Fenn demanded hotly. “And what right have you to stand there and cross-question me?” “The right of being prepared to call you to your face a liar,” Julian said gravely. “We have very certain information that Freistner is now imprisoned in a German fortress and will be shot before the week is out.” There was a little murmur of consternation, even of disbelief. Fenn himself was speechless. Julian went on eagerly.