Mr. Bodery turned the flimsy leaves impatiently, stopped, looked rapidly down a column, and, without raising his eyes from the railway guide, tore a telegraph form from the handle of a drawer at his side. Then he wrote in a large clear style: “Will be with you at five o'clock. Invent some excuse for V.'s absence. On no account give alarm to authorities.” The sharp boy took the telegram from the editor's hand with an expression of profound respect upon his wicked features. “Go down to Banks,” said Mr. Bodery, “ask him to let me have two copies of the foreign policy article in ten minutes.” When the silent door was closed, Mr. Morgan wheeled round upon his heels, and gazed meditatively at his superior. “Going down to see these people?” he asked, with a jerk of his head towards the West. “Yes, I am going by the eleven-fifteen.” “I have been thinking,” continued the sub-editor, “we may as well keep the printing-office door locked to-day. That slippery gentleman with the watery eyes meant business, or I am very much mistaken. I'll just send upstairs for Bander to go on duty at the shop door to-day as well as to-morrow; I think we shall have a big sale this week.” Mr. Bodery rose from his seat and began brushing his faultless hat. “Yes,” he replied; “do that. It would be very easy to get at the machinery. Printers are only human!” “Machinery is ready enough to go wrong when nobody wishes it,” murmured Mr. Morgan vaguely, as he sat down at the table and began setting the scattered papers in order. Mr. Bodery and his colleagues were in the habit of keeping at the office a small bag, containing the luggage necessary for a few nights in case of their being suddenly called away. This expedient was due to Christian Vellacott's forethought. The editor now proceeded to stuff into his bag sundry morning newspapers and a large cigar case. Telegraph forms, pen, ink, and foolscap paper were already there. “I say, Bodery,” said the sub-editor with grave familiarity, “it seems to me that you are taking much too serious a view of this matter. Vellacott is as wide awake as any man, and it always struck me that he was very well able to take care of himself.” “I have a wholesome dread of men who use religion as a means of justification. A fanatic is always dangerous.” “A sincere fanatic,” suggested the sub-editor. “Exactly so; and a sincere fanatic in the hands of an agitator is the very devil. That is whence these fellows got their power. Half of them are fanatics and the other half hypocrites.” Mr. Bodery had now completed his preparations, and he held out his plump hand, which the subeditor grasped. “I hope,” said the latter, “that you will find Vellacott at the station to meet you--ha, ha!” “I hope so.” “If,” said Mr. Morgan, following the editor to the door--“if he turns up here, I will wire to Carew and to you, care of the station-master.” CHAPTER XV BOOKS