Angel had mentioned a supreme authority. It was characteristic of Spedding that he should walk into a mine to see how far the fuse had burned. In other words, he hailed the first cab, and drove to the House of Commons.
The Right Honorable George Chandler Middleborough, His Majesty’s Secretary of State for Home Affairs, is a notoriously inaccessible man; but he makes exceptions, and such an exception he made in favor of Spedding. For eminent solicitors do not come down to the House at ten o’clock in the evening to gratify an idle curiosity, or to be shown over the House, or beg patronage and interest; and when a business card is marked “most urgent,” and that card stands for a staple representative of an important profession, the request for an interview is not easily refused.
Spedding was shown into the minister’s room, and the Home Secretary rose with a smile. He knew Mr. Spedding by sight, and had once dined in his company.
“Er—” he began, looking at the card in his hand, “what can I do for you—at this hour?” he smiled again.
“I have called to see you in the matter of the late—er—Mr. Reale.” He saw and watched the minister’s face. Beyond looking a little puzzled, the Home Secretary made no sign.
“Good!” thought Spedding, and breathed with more freedom.
“I’m afraid——” said the minister. He got no further, for Spedding was at once humility, apology, and embarrassment.
What! had the Home Secretary not received his letter? A letter dealing with the estate of Reale? You can imagine the distress and vexation on Mr. Spedding’s face as he spoke of the criminal carelessness of his clerk, his attitude of helplessness, his recognition of the absolute impossibility of discussing the matter until the Secretary had received the letter, and his withdrawal, leaving behind him a sympathetic minister of State who would have been pleased—would have been delighted, my dear sir, to have helped Mr. Spedding if he’d received the letter in time to consider its contents. Mr. Spedding was an inventive genius, and it might have been in reference to him that the motherhood of invention was first identified with dire necessity.
Out again in the courtyard, Spedding found a cab that carried him to his club.
“Angel bluffed!” he reflected with an inward smile. “My friend, you are risking that nice appointment of yours.”