Hampden had already taken a pencilled sheet of paper from his pocket. He had written it on his way up to Kilburn. He now handed it to the journalist.
"Between four and five o'clock that will be telescribed over the entire system," he explained. "Those who are not on the call will see it in the papers or hear from others. Every one will know before to-night."
He watched Lidiat sharply as he read the statement. Apart from the two principals, he was the first man in England to receive the confidence, and Sir John had a curiosity, not wholly idle, to see how it would strike him. But Lidiat was not, to use an obsolete phrase, "the man in the street." He absorbed the essence of the manifesto with a trained, practical grasp, and then held out his hand for the other paper, while his large, glabrous face remained merely vacant in its expression.
The next paper was a foreign telegram in cipher, and as Lidiat read the decoded version that was pinned to it, the baronet saw, or fancied that he saw, the flicker of a keener light come into his eyes and such a transient wave across his face, as might, in a man of impulse, indicate enthusiasm or appreciation.
"Are there to be any more of these—presently?" was all he said.
"I think that I might authorise you to say that there will be others to publish, as the moment seems most propitious."
"Very good. I will use the instruments now."
"There is one more point," said Hampden, writing a few short lines on a slip of paper, "that it might be desirable to make public now."
Lidiat took the paper. This was what he read:
"You are at liberty to state definitely that the membership of the Unity League now exceeds five million persons."