“I can only assure you,” I said, “that I have never in my life imported so much as a pocket pistol.”
“I had a long letter from Babberly this morning,” said Moyne. “He had an interview with the Prime Minister yesterday. It appears that the Government has some information.”
“Why doesn’t the Government act upon it then?”
“They are acting. They want me and Babberly to come out and denounce this kind of thing, to discountenance definitely—”
“That’s all well enough,” I said, “but I don’t see why you and Babberly should be expected to get the Government out of a hole. In fact it’s your business to keep them in any holes they fall into.”
“Under ordinary circumstances,” said Moyne, “we shouldn’t, of course, stir hand or foot. We’d let them stew in their own juice. And I may tell you that’s the line Babberly thinks we ought to take. But I don’t know. If there’s any truth in these rumours, and there may be, you know, it seems to me that we are face to face with a very serious business. Party politics are all right, of course; and I’m just as keen as any man to turn out this wretched Government. They’ve done mischief enough, but—well, if there’s any truth in what they say, it isn’t exactly a question of ordinary politics, and I think that every loyal man ought to stand by—”
“If there’s any truth in the rumours—” I said.
“The country’s in a queer state,” said Moyne. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“If the people have got rifles,” I said, “they’re not likely to give them up because you and Babberly tell them to.”