The Permanent Secretary looked up as the Great Man entered and wondered. He was at a loss to understand the reason for the knitted brow. The political horizon was clear and nothing could happen without his knowledge. He guessed that the reason was domestic. He knew that Lady Gadsby had a will of her own, and that even Great Men are human enough to be annoyed by feminine displeasure.
But Sir Gadsby soon undeceived him. He fidgetted about uncomfortably for a minute or two, irritably asking questions about minor matters which had recently engaged his attention before he plunged into the subject which filled his thoughts.
"Look here, Markham," he said, "that German business in the South Pacific is still worrying me."
The Permanent Secretary looked at him in surprise. "There's no need to worry, Dimbleby," he answered, "that storm's blown over all right."
"That's not the point," snapped Sir Gadsby. "What I want to know is how that information leaked out in the newspapers. Have you any suspicions?"
The Great Man frowned at the Permanent Secretary, and the Permanent Secretary frowned at the Great Man. The Permanent Secretary was silent so long that the Great Man continued, "I hate to think that any of our people can have been so lost to all sense of decency and honour, yet what on earth can I think? You have told me yourself that our despatch must have been tapped somehow."
"I have puzzled over the matter as much as yourself," said the Permanent Secretary slowly, "and am as much at a loss as yourself to account for the information leaking out. It seems to me that there are only two persons whom it is possible to suspect."
"And those?" queried the Great Man eagerly.
"Are our own two selves," was the answer.
Despite his irritation the Great Man laughed at the whimsicality of the idea, but he became grave again rapidly.