At ten minutes past nine Gorman mounted the platform, the narrow strip of platform left for him in front of the pits occupied by Tim’s apparatus. The clatter of general conversation ceased, and the Cabinet Ministers, sitting in the front row with Ascher, clapped their hands. The rest of the audience, realising that applause was desirable, also clapped their hands. Gorman bowed and smiled.
Then my elbow was jerked sharply. I looked round and saw Jack Heneage. Jack is a nice boy, the son of an old friend of mine. I have known him ever since he first went to school. About six months ago his father and I between us secured a very nice appointment for the boy, a sort of private secretaryship or something of that sort. I understood at the time that Jack’s business was to run messages for an important man’s wife; and that the appointment would lead on to something good in the political world. I was surprised to see him standing beside me for I had not asked him to my party and he was not wearing evening clothes. Jack would never go anywhere, willingly, unless he were properly dressed.
“Sit down,” I said, “and don’t talk. Mr. Gorman is just going to make a speech.”
“Is Ascher here?” said Jack.
“He is; in the front row.”
“Thank God. I’ve been chasing him all over London. Office, club, private house, tearing round in a taxi for hours. My Chief wants him.”
“Your chief can’t get him now,” I said. “Not for half an hour, perhaps three quarters. Gorman isn’t likely to stop under three quarters. Till he does you can’t get Ascher.”
“I must,” said Jack. “I simply must. It’s—it’s frightfully important.”
Gorman began his speech. I did not hear what he said because I was trying to restrain Jack Heneage, but the audience laughed, so I suppose he began with a joke. Jack shook off my hold on his arm and walked right up to the front of the hall. I saw Gorman scowling at him but Jack did not seem to mind that in the least. He handed a note to Ascher. Gorman said something about the very distinguished audience before him, a remark plainly intended to fill in the time while Jack and Ascher were finishing their business. Ascher read the note, rose from his seat and came towards me. Everybody looked at him and at Jack who was following him. Gorman repeated what he had said about the distinguished audience.
“I find,” Ascher said to me, “that I am obliged to leave you. I am very sorry.”