Secretly he wondered at the obtuseness of this man, who had thought such a scheme within the wildest range of possibilities. For himself he would not have lent a sixpence either of his own or of public money on such an enterprise. Yet he knew that Lord Inverbroom had been a Foreign Secretary of outstanding eminence, diplomatic, large-viewed, one who had earned the well-merited confidence of the public. Without doubt he had great qualities, but they did not appear to embrace the smallest perception on the subject of business.
Lord Inverbroom nodded to him, and rose.
‘I quite see your point, Mr Keeling,’ he said. ‘Now you put it to me so plainly, I only wonder that I did not think of it before. I am afraid we shall have a melancholy meeting.’
As he spoke he became aware that Keeling was not paying the smallest attention to him; he appeared unconscious of him. His finger still tapped his desk, and he was frowning at his ink-bottle. Then he dismissed, as if settled, whatever was occupying his mind.
‘How much has been spent on the new wing already?’ he asked.
‘Approximately eight thousand pounds.’
‘And that will be thrown away unless you raise twenty thousand more?’
‘Not permanently thrown away, I hope. But it will give us no return in the way of hospital accommodation.’
‘And the new wing, on your guarantee, is urgently needed?’ asked Keeling.
‘I can assure you of that.’