"Great Scott!" exclaimed Freddy, aghast. "You better try some of those newspaper things that Johnnies with funny addresses and members of the Greek Royal Family write up to say have done them no end. I say, Salt, I suppose there is spare office in this palatial suite that I could have if I grappled with the gilded effort?" "I really don't know that there is." He had not the most shadowy faith in the Honourable Freddy's perseverance, even in intention, for a week. To expect any real work from him was out of the question. "We are rather overcrowded here as it is." "If I were you, Salt, I should insist upon the old man removing better premises somewhere. Place seems absolutely congealed with underlings. Just listen to that in next room: it's like hive of gilded bees. What is it?" "Simply routine work going on," said Salt half-impatiently. "Sorry I can't spare the time to come out with you." "Oh, that's all right-angled," said Freddy, taking the hint and rising. "Sorry. Pramp, pramp. You think I shall find Sir John here Friday if I look in?" "Yes, here; but desperately busy." "Er, thanks," drawled Freddy, with just a suggestion of vice. "Perhaps my uncle will be able to spare me five minutes when he has done with you." He drifted languidly through the door and sauntered down the passage. At the door of the room where the monotonous voice rose and fell in the ceaseless repetition of short sentences, he paused to light a cigarette. For perhaps a full minute he remained quite motionless, the cigarette between his lips, the match pressed ready against the corrugations of the jewelled box he held. "Listretton, Fergus, 572 Upper Holloway Road, N. "Listwell-Phelps, J. Walter, F.R.S., Department of Ethopian Antiquities, British Museum, W.C. "Litchit, Miss, Dressmaker, 15 The Grove, Westpoint-on-Sea. "Little, Rev. H. K., The Vicarage, Lower Skerrington, Dorset. "Little, Lieutenant-General Sir Alfred Vernon, C.B., V.C., 14a Eaton Square, S.W. "Littlejohn, John George, Byryxia, Cole Park, Twickenham." Freddy Tantroy lit his cigarette and passed on. The prosaic list of new members dictated to an entering clerk did not interest him. Five names a minute, three hundred an hour, three thousand a day; an ordinary day, weeks after any special meeting, and in the flat season of the year. But it did not interest Mr Tantroy. Immersed in a scheme for taxing baths, soda-water syphons, and asparagus beds, and further occupied with the unexpectedly delicate details of withdrawing from India, it did not interest the Government. It was only the ordinary routine work of the Unity League. CHAPTER VII "SCHEDULE B"