He tore open the envelope: it was already after one, and probably there would be no answer, since he would see Lord Inverbroom at the Club, where he proposed to have lunch. The note was quite short.
‘Dear Sir Thomas,—I promised to let you know the result of the election. The meeting is just over, and I am sorry to say you have not been elected. Please allow me to express my sincere regrets.
‘Yours truly,
‘Inverbroom.’
Keeling had one moment of sheer surprise: he had been perfectly sure of being elected. Then without any conscious feeling of rancour or disappointment, his mind passed direct to what he had already determined to do if this contingency, which since the opening of the hospital-wing he had thought impossible, actually occurred.
‘Wait a moment,’ he said to the messenger. ‘There will be an answer for you to take back to Lord Inverbroom.’
He turned to Norah.
‘Please take this down direct on your typewriter,’ he said, ‘with a carbon copy to file.’
Norah put the two sheets on the roller, dated the paper, and waited.
Keeling thought for half a minute, drumming with his fingers on the table.
‘Are you ready?’ he said, and dictated.