The editor sat at a table in the centre of the room, facing several doors which led into various departments of the staff. The chief sub-editor, a short, alert person, spectacled and Jewish in aspect, stood by Ommaney's side as Spence came in. He had proof of page three in his hand--that portion of the paper which consisted of news which had accumulated through the day. He was submitting it to the editor, so that the whole sheet might be finally "passed for press" and "go to the foundry," where the type would be pressed into _papier-mâché_ moulds, from which the final curved plates for the roller machines would be cast. "Not at all a bad make-up, Levita," Ommaney said, as he initialled the margin in blue pencil. The sub-editor hurried from the room. Ommaney was slim and pale, carefully dressed, and of medium height. He did not look very old. His moustache was golden and carefully tended, his pale, honey-coloured hair waved over a high, white forehead. "I shall want an hour," Spence said. "I've just got what may be the most stupendous news any newspaper has ever published." The editor looked up quickly. A flash of interest passed over his pale, immobile face and was gone. He knew that if Spence spoke like this the occasion was momentous. He looked at his watch. "Is it news for to-night's paper?" he said. "No," answered Spence. "I'm the only man in England, I think, who has it yet. We shall gain nothing by printing to-night. But we must settle on a course of action at once. That won't wait. You'll understand when I explain." Ommaney nodded. On the writing-table was a mahogany stand about a foot square. A circle was described on it, and all round the circle, like the figures on the face of a clock, were little ivory tablets an inch long, with a name printed on each. In the centre of the circle a vulcanite handle moved a steel bar working on a pivot. Ommaney turned the handle till the end of the bar rested over the tablet marked +--------------------+ | COMPOSING ROOM | +--------------------+ He picked up the receiver and transmitter of a portable telephone and asked one or two questions. When he had communicated with several other rooms in this way Ommaney turned to Spence. "All right," he said, "I can give you an hour now. Things are fairly easy to-night." He got up from the writing-table and sat down by the fire. Spence took a chair opposite. He seemed dazed. He was trembling with excitement, his face was pale with it, yet, above and beyond this agitation, there was almost fear in his eyes. "It's a discovery in Palestine--at Jerusalem," he said in a low, vibrating voice, spreading out the thin, crackling sheets of foreign note-paper on his knee and arranging them in order. "You know Cyril Hands, the agent of the Palestine Exploring Fund?" "Yes, quite well by reputation," said Ommaney, "and I've met him once or twice. Very sound man."