dy
of men which you doubtless know all about. I attended a meeting at
Westminster an hour ago, and I was entrusted with this commission to
you."

Mr. Stenson sat down suddenly.

"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "You--Julian Orden!"

There was a moment's silence. Mr. Stenson, however, was a man of immense
recuperative powers. He assimilated the new situation without further
protest.

"You have given me the surprise of my life, Orden," he confessed. "That,
however, is a personal matter. Hannaway Wells is in the study. You have
no objection, I suppose, to his being present?"

"None whatever."

Mr. Stenson rang the bell, and in a few minutes they were joined by his
colleague. The former wasted no time in explanations.

"You will doubtless be as astonished as I was, Wells," he said, "to
learn that our friend Julian Orden comes here as the representative of
the new Labour Council. His qualifications, amongst others, are that
under the pseudonym of `Paul Fiske' he is the writer of those wonderful
articles which have been the beacon light and the inspiration of the
Labour Party for the last year."

Mr. Hannaway Wells prided himself upon never being surprised. This time
the only way he could preserve his reputation was by holding his tongue.

"We are now prepared to hear your mission," Mr. Stenson continued,
turning to his visitor.

"I imagine," Julian began, "that you know something about this new
Labour Council?"

"What little we do know," Mr. Stenson answered, "we have learnt with
great difficulty through our secret service. I gather that a small
league of men has been formed within a mile of the Houses of Parliament,
who, whatever their motives may be, have been guilty of treasonable and
traitorous communication with the enemy."

"Strictly speaking, you are, without doubt, perfectly right," Julian
acknowledged.

Mr. Stenson switched on an electric light.

"Sit down, Orden," he invited. "There is no need for us to stand glaring
at one another. There is enough of real importance in the nature of our
interview without making melodrama of it."

The Prime Minister threw himself into an easy chair. Julian, with a
little sigh of relief, selected a high-backed oak chair and rested
his foot upon a hassock. Hannaway Wells remained standing upon the
hearthrug.

"Straight into the heart of it, please, Orden," Mr. Stenson begged. "Let
us know how far this accursed conspiracy has gone."

"It has gone to very grea