"I am," Maraton admitted. "And you?"
"I am Richard Graveling, M.P.," the young man announced, with a certain emphasis on those last two letters,—"M.P. for Poplar East. We expected you at the Clarion to-night."
"I had other business," Maraton remarked calmly.
The young man appeared a trifle disconcerted.
"I don't see what business you can have here till we've talked things out and laid our plans," he declared. "I am secretary of the committee appointed to meet and confer with you. Peter Dale is chairman, of course. There are five of us. We expected you 'round to-night. You got our telegram at Liverpool?"
"Certainly," Maraton admitted. "It did not, however, suit my plans to accept your invitation. I had a message from Mr. Foley, begging me to see him to-night. I have been to his house."
The young man distinctly scowled.
"So Foley's been getting at you, has he?"
Maraton's face was inscrutable but there was, for a moment, a dangerous flash in his eyes.
"I had some conversation with him this evening.