The War Department was ablaze with light, and messengers were running. With the assurance of a retainer of an old house Baker made his way through much small-calibre vociferation. There was rumour of a big victory; there was rumour of a big defeat. In the corridors various watchdogs arose from their armchairs and asked him of his business in tones of uncertainty which in no wise compared with their previous habitual deference to the private secretary of the war-horse of Skowmulligan. Ultimately Baker arrived in a room where some kind of head clerk sat writing feverishly at a roll-top desk. Baker asked a question, and the head clerk mumbled profanely without lifting his head. Apparently he said: "How in the blankety-blank blazes do I know?" The private secretary let his jaw fall. Surely some new spirit had come suddenly upon the heart of Washington--a spirit which Baker understood to be almost defiantly indifferent to the wishes of Senator Cadogan, a spirit which was not courteously oily. What could it mean? Baker's fox-like mind sprang wildly to a conception of overturned factions, changed friends, new combinations. The assurance which had come from experience of a broad political situation suddenly left him, and he would not have been amazed if some one had told him that Senator Cadogan now controlled only six votes in the State of Skowmulligan. "Well," he stammered in his bewilderment, "well--there isn't any news of the old man's son, hey?" Again the head clerk replied blasphemously. Eventually Baker retreated in disorder from the presence of this head clerk, having learned that the latter did not give a ---- if Caspar Cadogan were sailing through Hades on an ice yacht. Baker stormed other and more formidable officials. In fact, he struck as high as he dared. They one and all flung him short, hard words, even as men pelt an annoying cur with pebbles. He emerged from the brilliant light, from the groups of men with anxious, puzzled faces, and as he walked back to the hotel he did not know if his name were Baker or Cholmondeley. However, as he walked up the stairs to the Senator's rooms he contrived to concentrate his intellect upon a manner of speaking. The war-horse was still pacing his parlour and smoking. He paused at Baker's entrance. "Well?" "Mr. Cadogan," said the private secretary coolly, "they told me at the Department that they did not give a cuss whether your son was alive or dead." The Senator looked at Baker and smiled gently. "What's that, my boy?" he asked in a soft and considerate voice. "They said----" gulped Baker, with a certain tenacity. "They said that they didn't give a cuss whether your son was alive or dead."