him in
full view, and--Well!" he wound up.

"Well?" said I.

He dropped his voice to a whisper almost. "It frightened me,
sir. . . . I think it must have frightened a good few of the
audience, and that's what held the rush back and gave you and the
other gentleman time. You wouldn't think, to look at his face now"--
with a glance across at Farrell, who was sending out to inquire if
his car had arrived, and looking at his watch (for, you'll
understand, the meeting had broken up early in spite of my oratorical
effort)--"you wouldn't believe, Sir Roderick, that there was anything
deep in the man. Nor perhaps there isn't. It didn't seem to me,
just half a minute, that it was Mr. Farrell inside Mr. Farrell's
clothes and looking out of his eyes."

"Then _who_, in the world?" I asked.

The steward gave himself a shake. "Speak low, sir, and don't turn
round. . . . I was a fool to mention his name--folks always hear
their own names quicker than anything else. He's looking our way,
suspicious-like. . . . Now if I was to say 'Satan,' or if I was to
say that he was a party possessed--Well, any way, Sir Roderick, I
wish we had someone else for a candidate, and I don't see myself
happy, these next few days, working on Committee for him."

"Well, you have the advantage of me," said I. "You saw him
full-face, whereas I had to study him from the rear. From the rear
he looked funny enough. . . . But look here," I went on; "if there
were any slate loose on the man's roof, as you're hinting, you may
bet that a great Furnishing Company in Tottenham Court Road wouldn't
be taking any risks with him as Chairman of Directors."

"All I can say, sir," he muttered, shaking his head, "is that I don't
like it. And, anyway, he isn't a gentleman."

The Chairman had left us to say good night to Mr. Farrell, whose car
was just then announced. I went across, too, to shake hands and wish
him good luck on polling-day. As our eyes met he started, came out
of the torpor in which he had been gazing about him, and bowed to me
in best shop-walker fashion.

"Ah, Sir Roderick!" he said, not very coherently. "You must excuse
me--remiss, very. Owe you many thanks, sir--not only for coming--
great honour--But saved very awkward situation. Overwrought, sir--
that's what I'm suffering from--overstrain: not used to this sort of
thing. . . . My God, I am tired . . . all of a sudden, too; so tired
you can't think. . . . Can I have the pleasure of