“Julian Orden,” he said, “is a young man of peculiarly stubborn type, but if I thought that my exhortations would be of any benefit, I would not shrink from trying them, whatever it might cost me.”
“Better have a try, then,” Fenn suggested. “If we do not succeed within the next twenty-four hours, I shall give you an order to see him. I don’t mind confessing,” he went on confidentially, “that the need for the production of that document is urgent, apart from the risk we run of having our plans forestalled if it should fall into the hands of the Government.”
“I presume that Miss Abbeway has already done her best?”
“She has worn herself out with persuasions.”
“Has he himself been told the truth?”
Fenn shook his head.
“From your own knowledge of the young man, do you think that it would be of any use? Even Miss Abbeway is forced to admit that any one less likely to sympathise with our aims it would be impossible to find. At the same time, if we do arrange an interview for you, use any arguments you can think of. To tell you the truth, our whole calculations have been upset by not discovering the packet upon his person. He was on his way to Downing Street when our agents intervened, and we never doubted that he would have it with him. When will it be convenient for you to pay your visit?”
“At any time you send for me,” the Bishop replied. “Meanwhile, Mr. Fenn, before I leave I want to remind you once more of the original purpose of my call upon you.”
Fenn frowned a little peevishly as he rose to usher his visitor out.
“Miss Abbeway has already extorted a foolish promise from us,” he said. “The young man’s safety for the present is not in question.”