e Cabinet Ministers
bending over a New Testament, which Sir Lyster had fetched from his
wife's boudoir, and the words they read were: "Wherefore I say unto
thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much."

"Strange," murmured Lord Beamdale, "very strange," and the others
knew that he was referring not to the text, or to the unhappy girl--
but to Malcolm Sage.

"We are always surprised when we find Saul among the prophets,"
remarked Mr. Llewellyn John, and he made a mental note of the phrase.
It might do for the "Wee Frees."

CHAPTER VIII GLADYS NORMAN DINES WITH THOMPSON

I

"Tommy," remarked Miss Gladys Norman one day as Thompson entered her
room through the glass-panelled door, "have you ever thought what I
shall do fifty years hence?"

"Darn my socks," replied the practical Thompson.

"I mean," she proceeded with withering deliberation, "what will
happen when I can't do the hundred in ten seconds?"

Thompson looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"My cousin Will says that if you can't do the hundred yards in ten
seconds you haven't an earthly," she explained. "It's been worrying
me. What am I to do when I'm old and rheumaticky and the Chief does
three on the buzzer? He's bound to notice it and he'll _look_."

Malcolm Sage's "look" was a slight widening of the eyes as he gazed
at a delinquent. It was his method of conveying rebuke. That "look"
would cause Thompson to swear earnestly under his breath for the
rest of the day, whilst on Gladys Norman it had several distinct
effects, the biting of her lower lips, the snubbing of Thompson, the
merciless banging of her typewriter, and a self-administered rebuke
of "Gladys Norman, you're a silly little ass," being the most
noticeable.

For a moment Thompson thought deeply, then with sudden inspiration
he said, "Why not move your table nearer his door?"

"What a brain!" she cried, regarding him with mock admiration. "You
must have been waving it with Hindes' curlers. Yes," she added, "you
may take me out to dinner to-night, Tommy."

Thompson was in the act of waving his hat wildly over his head when
Malcolm Sage came out of his room. For the fraction of a second he
paused and regarded his subordinates.

"It's not another war, I hope," he remarked, and, without waiting
for a reply, he turned, re-entered his room and closed the door.

Gladys Norman collapsed over her typewriter, where with heaving
shoulders she strove t