cted temporarily. He ought to be able to find his way home,
though. If not, I suppose you'll hear of him through the police courts
or a hospital. Nothing that we have done," he added, after a moment's
pause, "is likely to affect his health permanently in the slightest
degree."

"You now know all that there is to be known, Miss Abbeway," Fenn said.
"I agree with you that it is highly desirable that Mr. Orden should be
found at once, and if you can suggest any way in which I might be of
assistance in discovering his present whereabouts, I shall be only
too glad to help. For instance, would you like me to telephone to his
rooms?"

Catherine rose to her feet.

"Thank you, Mr. Fenn," she said, "I don't think that we will trouble
you. Mr. Furley is making enquiries both at Mr. Orden's rooms and at his
clubs."

"You are perfectly satisfied, so far as I am concerned, I trust?" he
persisted, as he opened the door for them.

"Perfectly satisfied," Catherine replied, looking him in the face, "that
you have told us as much as you choose to for the present."

Fenn closed the door behind Catherine and the Bishop and turned back
into the room. Bright laughed at him unpleasantly.

"Love affair not going so strong, eh?"

Fenn threw himself into his chair, took a cigarette from a paper packet,
and lit it.

"Blast Julian Orden!" he muttered.

"No objection," his friend yawned. "What's wrong now?"

"Haven't you heard the news? It seems he's the fellow who has been
writing those articles on Socialism and Labour, signing them `Paul
Fiske.' Idealistic rubbish, but of course the Bishop and his lot are
raving about him."

"I've read some of his stuff," Bright admitted, himself lighting a
cigarette; "good in its way, but old-fashioned. I'm out for something a
little more than that."

"Stick to the point," Fenn enjoined morosely. "Now they've found out who
Julian Orden is, they want him produced. They want to elect him on the
Council, make him chairman over all our heads, let him reap the reward
of the scheme which our brains have conceived."

"They want him, eh? That's awkward."

"Awkward for us," Fenn muttered.

"They'd better have him, I suppose," Bright said, with slow and evil
emphasis. "Yes, they'd better have him. We'll take off our hats, and
assure him that it was a mistake."

"Too late. I've told Miss Abbeway and the Bishop that he is at large.
You backed me up."

Bright thrust his long, unpleasant, knobby finger