“Still, it is possible,” the Bishop persisted, “that Julian Orden may not be in a position to forward that document to the Foreign Office for the present? If that is so, I am inclined to think that the Prime Minister would consider your visit a bluff. Certainly, you would have no argument weighty enough to induce him to propose the armistice. No man could act upon your word alone. He would want to see these wonderful proposals in writing, even if he were convinced of the justice of your arguments.” There was a little murmur of approval. Fenn leaned forward. “You drive me to a further disclosure,” he declared, after a moment’s hesitation, “one, perhaps, which I ought already to have made. I have arranged for a duplicate of that packet to be prepared and forwarded. I set this matter on foot the moment we heard from Miss Abbeway here of her mishap. The duplicate may reach us at any moment.” “Then I propose,” the Bishop said, “that we postpone our decision until those papers be received. Remember that up to the present moment the Council have not pledged themselves to take action until they have perused that document.” “And supposing,” Fenn objected, “that to-morrow morning at eight o’clock, twenty-three of us are marched off to the Tower! Our whole cause may be paralysed, all that we have worked for all these months will be in vain, and this accursed and bloody war may be dragged on until our politicians see fit to make a peace of words.” “I know Mr. Stenson well,” the Bishop declared, “and I am perfectly convinced that he is too sane-minded a man to dream of taking such a step as you suggest. He, at any rate, if others in his Cabinet are not so prescient, knows what Labour means.” “I agree with the Bishop, for many reasons,” Furley pronounced. “And I,” Cross echoed. The sense of the meeting was obvious. Fenn’s unpleasant looking teeth flashed for a moment, and his mouth came together with a little snap. “This is entirely an informal gathering,” he said. “I shall summon the Council to come together tomorrow at midday.” “I think that we may sleep in our beds to-night without fear of molestation,” the Bishop remarked, “although if it had been the wish of the meeting, I would have broached the matter to Mr. Stenson.” “You are an honorary member of the Council,” Fenn declared rudely. “We don’t wish interference. This is a national and international Labour movement.” “I am a member of the Labour Party of Christ,” the Bishop said quietly. “And an honoured member of this Executive Council,” Cross intervened. “You’re a bit too glib with your tongue to-night, Fenn.” “I think of those whom I represent,” was the curt reply. “They are toilers, and they want the toilers to show their power. They don’t want help from the Church. I’ll go even so far,” he added, “as to say that they don’t want help from literature. It’s their own job. They’ve begun it, and they want to finish it.”