their
man. Nothing was known, save that a certain John Questerhayes, K. C.,
an eminent Chancery barrister, who had of late made himself conspicuous
in the constituency, had been turned down on the ground that he was not
sufficiently progressive. Now for comfort to the Radical the term
"Progressive" licks the blessed word Mesopotamia into a cocked hat.
Under the Progressive's sad-coloured cloak he need not wear the red tie
of the socialist. Apparently Mr. Questerhayes objected to the
sad-coloured cloak, the mantle of Elijah, M. P., the late member for
Hickney Heath. "Wanted: an Elisha," seemed to be the cry of the Radical
Committee.

Paul leaned back, his elbows on the arms of his chair, his finger tips
together, a cigarette between his lips, lost in thought. The early
November twilight deepened in the room. He was to address a meeting
that night. In order to get ready for his speech he had not allowed
himself to be detained, and had come home early. His speech had been
prepared; but the Radical delay was a new factor of which he might take
triumphant advantage. Hence the pencil notes on the sheet of foolscap,
before him.

A man-servant came in, turned on the electric light, pulled the
curtains together and saw to the fire.

"Tea's in the drawing-room, sir."

"Bring me some here in a breakfast cup--nothing to eat," said Paul.

Even his dearest lady could not help him in his meditated attack on the
enemy whom the Lord was delivering into his hands.

The man-servant went away. Presently Paul heard him reenter the room;
the door was at his back. He threw out an impatient hand behind him.
"Put it down anywhere, Wilton, I'll have it when I want it."

"I beg pardon, sir," said the man, coming forward, "but it's not the
tea. There's a gentleman and a lady and another person would like to
see you. I said that you were busy, sir, but--"

He put the silver salver, with its card, in front of Paul. Printed on
the card was, "Mr. Silas Finn." In pencil was written: "Miss Seddon,
Mr. William Simmons."

Paul looked at the card in some bewilderment. What in the name of
politics or friendship were they doing in Portland Place? Not to
receive them, however, was unthinkable.

"Show them in," said he.

Silas Finn, Jane and Barney Bill! It was odd. He laughed and took out
his watch. Yes, he could easily give them half an hour or so. But why
had they come? He had found time to call once at the house in Hickney
Heath since his re