tly
gases."

Catherine rose to her feet. She faced the two men, her eyes flashing
with anger.

"The Council will require an explanation of this, Mr. Fenn!" she
declared passionately. "Barely an hour ago you told us that Mr. Orden
had escaped from Hampstead."

"Julian Orden," Fenn replied, "has been handed over to our secret
service by the unanimous vote of the Council. We have absolute liberty
to deal with him as we think fit."

"Have you liberty to tell lies as to his whereabouts?" Catherine
demanded. "You deliberately told the Council he had escaped, yet,
entirely owing to Mr. Furley, I find you down here at Bermondsey with
him. What were you going to do with him when I came in?"

"Persuade him to restore the packet, if we could," Fenn answered
sullenly.

"Rubbish!" Catherine retorted. "You know very well that he is our
friend. You have only to tell him the truth, and your task with him is
at an end."

"Steady!" Julian muttered. "Don't imagine that I have any sympathy with
your little nest of conspirators."

"That is only because you do not understand," Catherine assured him.
"Listen, and you shall hear the whole truth. I will tell you what is
inside that packet and whose signatures you will find there."

Julian gripped her wrist suddenly. His eyes were filled with a new fear.
He was watching the two men, who were whispering together.

"Catherine," he exclaimed warningly, "look out! These men mean mischief.
That devil Bright invents a new poisonous gas every day. Look at Fenn
buckling on his mask. Quick! Get out if you can!"

Catherine's hand touched her bosom. Bright sprang towards her, but he
was too late. She raised a little gold whistle to her lips, and its
pealing summons rang through the room. Fenn dropped his mask and glanced
towards Bright. His face was livid.

"Who's outside?" he demanded.

"The Bishop and Mr. Furley. Great though my confidence is in you both, I
scarcely ventured to come here alone."

The approaching footsteps were plainly audible. Fenn shrugged his
shoulders with a desperate attempt at carelessness.

"I don't know what is in your mind, Miss Abbeway," he said. "You can
scarcely believe that you, at any rate, were in danger at our hands."

"I would not trust you a yard," she replied fiercely. "In any case, it
is better that the others should come. Mr. Orden might not believe me.
He will at least believe the Bishop."

"Believe whom?" Julian demanded.

The door was opene