“Fenn and Bright know,” Cross declared. “It’s Bright’s job.”
“Why is Bright in it?” Catherine asked impatiently.
Cross frowned and puckered up his lips, an odd trick of his when he was displeased.
“Bright represents the workers in chemical factories,” he explained. “They say that there isn’t a poison in liquid, solid or gas form, that he doesn’t know all about. Chap who gives me kind of shivers whenever he comes near. He and Fenn run the secret service branch of the Council.”
“If he knows where Mr. Orden is, couldn’t we send for him at once?” Catherine suggested.
“I’ll go,” Furley volunteered.
He was back in a few minutes.
“Fenn and Bright are both out,” he announced, “and their rooms locked up. I rang up Fenn’s house, but he hasn’t been back.”
Catherine stamped her foot. She was on fire with impatience.
“Doesn’t it seem too bad!” she exclaimed. “If we could only get hold of Julian Orden to-night, if the Bishop and I could talk to him for five minutes, we could have this message for which we have been waiting so long.”