efore an operation. He spoke for several
minutes. Pallant muttered 'Hear! hear!' I saw Ollyett's eye flash--it
was to Ollyett that Masquerier addressed himself chiefly,--and
Woodhouse leaned forward with joined hands.

'Are you _with_ me?' he went on, gathering us all up in one sweep of the
arm. 'When I begin a thing I see it through, gentlemen. What Bat can't
break, breaks him! But I haven't struck that thing yet. This is no
one-turn turn-it-down show. This is business to the dead finish. Are you
with me, gentlemen? Good! Now, we'll pool our assets. One London
morning, and one provincial daily, didn't you say? One weekly commercial
ditto and one M.P.'

'Not much use, I'm afraid,' Pallant smirked.

'But privileged. _But_ privileged,' he returned. 'And we have also my
little team--London, Blackburn, Liverpool, Leeds--I'll tell you about
Manchester later--and Me! Bat Masquerier.' He breathed the name
reverently into his tankard. 'Gentlemen, when our combination has
finished with Sir Thomas Ingell, Bart., M.P., and everything else that
is his, Sodom and Gomorrah will be a winsome bit of Merrie England
beside 'em. I must go back to town now, but I trust you gentlemen will
give me the pleasure of your company at dinner to-night at the Chop
Suey--the Red Amber Room--and we'll block out the scenario.' He laid his
hand on young Ollyett's shoulder and added: 'It's your brains I want.'
Then he left, in a good deal of astrachan collar and nickel-plated
limousine, and the place felt less crowded.

We ordered our car a few minutes later. As Woodhouse, Ollyett and I were
getting in, Sir Thomas Ingell, Bart., M.P., came out of the Hall of
Justice across the square and mounted his horse. I have sometimes
thought that if he had gone in silence he might even then have been
saved, but as he settled himself in the saddle he caught sight of us and
must needs shout: 'Not off yet? You'd better get away and you'd better
be careful.' At that moment Pallant, who had been buying
picture-postcards, came out of the inn, took Sir Thomas's eye and very
leisurely entered the car. It seemed to me that for one instant there
was a shade of uneasiness on the baronet's grey-whiskered face.

'I hope,' said Woodhouse after several miles, 'I hope he's a widower.'

'Yes,' said Pallant. 'For his poor, dear wife's sake I hope that, very
much indeed. I suppose he didn't see me in Court. Oh, here's the parish
history of Huckley written by the Rector and here