‘White weskit,’ murmured Elk, ‘and the bar’s in the corner of the room.’
Harlow had already seen them; and although Mr Elk was an uninvited guest, he greeted him with warmth. To his companion he gave a warm and hearty hand.
‘Have you seen Sir Joseph?’ he asked.
Jim had seen the Foreign Secretary that afternoon to learn whether he had made any fresh plans, but had found that Sir Joseph was adhering to his original intention of attending the reception only. He was telling Harlow this when there was a stir at the door and, looking around, he saw the Foreign Secretary enter the room and stop to shake hands with a friend at the door. He wore his black velvet jacket, his long black he straggled artistically over his white shirt front. Sir Joseph had been pilloried as the worst-dressed man in London and yet, for all his slovenliness of attire, he had the distinctive air of a grand gentleman.
He fixed his horn-rims and favoured Jim with a friendly smile as he made his way to his host. ‘I was afraid I could not come,’ he said in his husky voice. ‘The truth is, some foolish newspaper had been giving prominence to a ridiculous story that went the rounds a few weeks ago; and I had to be in my place to answer a question.’
‘Rather late for question time, Sir Joseph,’ smiled Harlow. ‘I always thought they were taken before the real business of Parliament began.’
Sir Joseph nodded in his jerky way.
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, a little testily, ‘but when questions of policy arise, and a member gives me private notice of his intention of asking such a question, it can be put at any period.’
He swept Parliament and vexatious questioners out of existence with a gesture of his hand.
Jim watched the two men talking together. They were in a deep and earnest conversation, and he gathered from Sir Joseph’s gesticulations that the Minister was feeling very strongly on the subject under discussion. Presently they strolled through the crowded library into the vestibule, and after a decent interval Jim went on their trail. He signalled his companion from the buffet and Mr Elk, wiping his moustache hurriedly, joined him as he reached the door.
The guests were still arriving; the vestibule was crowded and progress was slow. Presently a side door in the hall opened, and over the heads of the crush he saw Sir Joseph and Mr Harlow come out and make for the street. Harlow turned back and met the detectives.
‘A short visit,’ he said, ‘but worth while!’ Jim reached the steps in time to see the Foreign Minister’s car moving into Park Lane and he had a glimpse of Sir Joseph as he waved his hand in farewell…
‘He stayed long enough to justify a paragraph in the evening newspaper—and the uncharitable will believe that this was all I wanted! You’re not going?’
It was Harlow speaking.
‘I am sorry, I also have an engagement—in the House! said Jim good-humouredly; and Mr Harlow laughed.
‘I see. You were here on duty as well, eh? Well, that’s a very wise precaution. I now realise that not only are you a lucky but you are a short-sighted young man!’
‘Why?’ asked Jim, so sharply that Harlow laughed.
‘I will tell you one of these days,’ he said.
The two detectives waited until a taxicab had been hailed; they drove into Palace Yard at the moment Sir Joseph’s car was moving back to the rank.
‘I don’t see why you pulled me away from that party, Carlton,’ grumbled Elk. ‘Look on this picture and look on that! Look at gay Park Lane and dirty old Westminster!’ And then, when his companion did not reply, he asked anxiously: ‘Something wrong?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve only a sort of feeling that we’re going to see an earthquake—that’s all,’ said Jim emphatically, as they passed into the lobby.
Sir Joseph was in his room and could not be disturbed, a messenger told them. Jim had signed tickets and they passed into the chamber and took a seat under the gallery.
The house was well filled, except the Government benches, which save for the presence of an under- secretary deeply immersed in the contents of his dispatch box, were untenanted. Evidently some motion had been put to the House and the result announced just before the two visitors arrived, for the clerk was reading the terms of an interminable amendment to a Water and Power Bill when Sir Joseph strode in from behind the Speaker’s chair, dropped heavily on the bench and, putting on his glasses began to read a sheaf of notes which he carried.
At that moment somebody rose on the Opposition front bench.
‘Mr Speaker, I rise to ask the right honourable gentleman a question of which I have given him private notice. The question is: Has the right honourable gentleman seen a statement published in the Daily Megaphone to the effect that relationships between His Majesty’s Government and the Government of France are strained as the result of the Bonn incident? And will he tell the House whether such a statement was issued, as is hinted in the newspaper account, with the knowledge and approval of the Foreign Office?’
Sir Joseph rose slowly to his feet, took off his horn-rims and replaced them again, nervously gripped the lapels of his coat, and leaning forward over the dispatch box, spoke:
‘The right honourable gentleman is rightly informed,’ he began, and a hush fell on the House.
Members looked at one another in amazement and consternation.
‘There does exist between His Britannic Majesty’s Government and the Government of France a tension which I can only describe as serious. So serious, in fact, that I have felt it necessary to advise the Prime Minister that a state of emergency be declared, all Christmas leave for the Armed Forces be cancelled and that all reserves shall be immediately mobilised.’
A moment of deadly silence. Then a roar of protest.
There was hurled at the Government benches a hurricane of indignant questions. Presently the Speaker secured silence; and Sir Joseph went on, in his grave, husky tone: ‘I am not prepared to answer any further questions tonight, and I must ask honourable members to defer their judgement until Monday, when I hope to make a statement on behalf of His Majesty’s Government.’
And with that, unheeding the calls, he turned and walked behind the Speaker’s chair and out of sight.
‘Good God!’ Jim was white to the lips. ‘That means war!’
Elk, who had fallen into a doze, woke with a start, in time to see his companion dashing out of the House. He followed him along the corridor to Sir Joseph’s room and knocked at the door. There was no answer. Jim turned the handle and walked in.
The room was in darkness and empty. Rushing out into the passage, he waylaid a messenger.
‘No, sir, I’ve not seen Sir Joseph. He went into the House a few minutes ago.’
By the time he got back Jim found the lobby crowded with excited members. The Prime Minister was in the West of England; the First Lord of the Admiralty and the Secretary for War had left that afternoon to address a series of public meetings in the North; and already the telephones were busy seeking the other members of the Cabinet. He found nobody who had seen Sir Joseph after he left the House, until he came upon a policeman who thought he had recognised the Foreign Minister walking out into Palace Yard. Jim followed this clue and had it confirmed. Sir Joseph had come out into the Yard and taken a taxi (though his car was waiting), a few minutes before. The detectives almost ran to Whitehall Gardens; and here they had a further shock. The Minister had not arrived at his home.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Jim incredulously, thinking the butler had orders to rebuff all callers.
‘Positive, sir. Why, is anything the matter?’ asked the man in alarm.
Jim did not wait to reply. They found a cab in Whitehall and went beyond legal speed to Park Lane. There was just a chance that the Foreign Minister had returned to Harlow’s.
When they reached Greenhart House there came to them the strains of an orchestra; dancing was in full swing, both in the library and in the large drawing-room overlooking Park Lane. They found Harlow, after a search, and he seemed the most astonished man of all.
‘Of course he hasn’t come back here. He told me he was going to the House and then home to bed. What has happened?’
‘You’ll see it in the newspapers in the morning,’ said Jim curtly and drove back to Parliament in time to find the members streaming out of the House, which had been adjourned.
Whilst he was talking with a member he knew, a car drove up and the man who alighted was instantly hailed. It was the Chancellor of the Exchequer, a broad-shouldered man, with a stoop, the most brilliant member of the
