We shall find them all at Westminster--the place will be
open all night. Close your eyes and rest while I am away."

"I am rested," she answered softly, "but do not be long. The car is
outside, and on the way I have more to tell you about Nicholas Fenn."

CHAPTER XXI

If the closely drawn blinds of the many windows of Westminster Buildings
could have been raised that night and early morning, the place would
have seemed a very hive of industry. Twenty men were hard at work in
twenty different rooms. Some went about their labours doubtfully, some
almost timorously, some with jubilation, one or two with real regret.
Under their fingers grew the more amplified mandates which, following
upon the bombshell of the already prepared telegrams, were within a
few hours to paralyse industrial England, to keep her ships idle in
the docks, her trains motionless upon the rails, her mines silent, her
forges cold, her great factories empty. Even the least imaginative felt
the thrill, the awe of the thing he was doing. On paper, in the brain,
it seemed so wonderful, so logical, so certain of the desired result.
And now there were other thoughts forcing their way to the front. How
would their names live in history? How would Englishmen throughout the
world regard this deed? Was it really the truth they were following, or
some false and ruinous shadow? These were fugitive doubts, perhaps, but
to more than one of those midnight toilers they presented themselves in
the guise of a chill and drear presentiment.

They all heard a motor-car stop outside. No one, however, thought it
worth while to discontinue his labours for long enough to look out and
see who this nocturnal visitor might be. In a very short time, however,
these labours were disturbed. From room to room, Julian, with Catherine
and the Bishop, for whom they had called on the way, passed with a brief
message. No one made any difficulty about coming to the Council room.
The first protest was made when they paid the visit which they had
purposely left until last. Nicholas Fenn had apparently finished or
discontinued his efforts. He was seated in front of his desk, his chin
almost resting upon his folded arms, and a cigarette between his lips.
Bright was lounging in an easy-chair within a few feet of him. Their
heads were close together; their conversation, whatever the subject of
it may have been, was conducted in whispers. Apparently they had not
heard Julian's knock, for