Stonor turned sharply round. His face was much more interested than any of his words had been.
As though in the silence, Stonor had asked a question, Farnborough produced the answer.
'Your brother said it only confirmed his fears.'
'Said that, did he?' Stonor spoke half under his breath.
'Yes. Defeat is inevitable, he thinks, unless——' Farnborough waited, intently watching the big figure that had begun pacing back and forth. It paused, but no word came, even the eyes were not raised.
'Unless,' Farnborough went on, 'you can manufacture some political dynamite within the next few hours. Those were his words.'
As Stonor resumed his walk he raised his head and caught sight of Jean's face. He stopped short directly in front of her.
'You are very tired,' he said.
'No, no.' She turned again to the window.
'I'm obliged to you for troubling about this,' he said, offering Farnborough his hand with the air of civilly dismissing him. 'I'll see what can be done.'