journalist's
voice came to him as through a dense screen.

"You will observe that the former President's relatives tacitly admit
that there was a plot on foot," the other was saying. "It is important
to note, too, that the long message from Pernambuco, marked 'delayed in
transmission' seems to imply a prior telegram which was suppressed. It
alludes to a revolt of which nothing is known here. Now, Mr. Verity, I
want to ask you----"

The door was flung open. In rushed Dickey Bulmer with a speed
strangely disproportionate to his years. In his hands he held a
crumpled newspaper.

"You infernal blackguard, have you seen this?" he roared, and his
attitude threatened instant assault on the dazed man looking up at him.
The reporter moved out of the way. Here, indeed, was "copy" of the
right sort. Bulmer held a position of much local importance. That he
should use such language to the owner of the _Andromeda_ promised
developments "of the utmost public interest."

David stood up. His chair fell over with a crash. He held on to the
table to steady himself. Even Bulmer, white with rage, could not fail
to see that he was stunned.

But Dickey was not minded to spare him on that account.

"Answer me, you scoundrel!" he shouted, thrusting the paper almost into
David's face. "You are glib enough when it suits your purpose. Were
_you_ in this? Is this the reason you didn't tell me Iris was on board
till I forced the truth out of you last night?"

The managing clerk came in. Behind him, a couple of juniors and the
office boy supplied reenforcements. They all had the settled
conviction that their employer was a rogue, but he paid them in no
niggardly fashion, and they would not suffer anyone to attack him.

This incursion from the external world had a restorative effect on
Verity. Being what is termed a self-made man, he had a fine sense of
his own importance, and his subordinates' lack of respect forthwith
overcame every other consideration.

"Get out!" he growled, waving a hand toward the door.

"But, sir--please, gentlemen----" stuttered the senior clerk.

"Get out, I tell you! D--n yer eyes, 'oo sent for any of you?"

Undoubtedly David was recovering. The discomfited clerks retired.
Even Dickey Bulmer was quieted a little. But he still shook the
newspaper under David's nose.

"Now!" he cried. "Let's have it. No more of your flamin' made-up
tales. Wot took you to shove the _Andromeda_ into a rat-