“To-morrow’s meeting,” Furley observed, “will show how far you are right in your views. I consider my position, and the Bishop’s, as members of the Labour Party, on a par with your own. I will go further and say that the very soul of our Council is embodied in the teachings and the writings of Paul Fiske, or, as we now know him to be, Julian Orden.” Fenn rose to his feet. He was trembling with passion. “This informal meeting is adjourned,” he announced harshly. Cross himself did not move. “Adjourned or not it may be, Mr. Fenn,” he said, “but it’s no place of yours to speak for it. You’ve thrust yourself into that chair, but that don’t make you chairman, now or at any other time.” Fenn choked down the words which had seemed to tremble on his lips. His enemies he knew, but there were others here who might yet be neutral. “If I have assumed more than I should have done, I am sorry,” he said. “I brought you news which I was in a hurry to deliver. The rest followed.” The little company rose to their feet and moved towards the door, exchanging whispered comments concerning the news which Catherine had brought. She herself crossed the room and confronted Fenn. “There is still something to be said about that news,” she declared. Fenn’s attempt at complete candour was only partially convincing. “There is not the slightest reason,” he declared, “why anything concerning Julian Orden should be concealed from any member of the Council who desires information. If you will follow me into my private room, Miss Abbeway, and you, Furley, I shall be glad to tell you our exact position. And if the Bishop will accompany you,” he added, turning to the latter, “I shall be honoured.” Furley made no reply, but, whispering something in Catherine’s ear, took up his hat and left the room. The other two, however, took Fenn at his word, followed him into his room, accepted the chairs which he placed for them, and waited while he spoke through a telephone to the private exchange situated in the building. “They tell me,” he announced, as he laid down the instrument, “that Bright has this moment returned and is now on his way upstairs.” Catherine shivered. “Is Mr. Bright that awful-looking person who came to the last Council meeting?” “He is probably the person you mean,” Fenn assented. “He takes very little interest in our executive work, but he is one of the most brilliant scientists of this or any other generation. The Government has already given him three laboratories for his experiments, and nearly every gas that is being used at the Front has been prepared according to his formula.” “A master of horrors,” the Bishop murmured. “He looks it,” Catherine whispered under her breath.