Sullivan didn’t doubt that she was somewhere in the House at the moment.
“You trot along and find her, then,” urged the other. “Bring her up here and let’s hold a friendly little conference. The sooner we get her started on this escapade, the sooner our young friend will lose his head!”
CHAPTER 12.
A light but insistent tapping put an end to Dilling’s reflections.
“Come in!” he called, impatiently, and turned towards the window as if intent upon the landscape.
There was a slight pause, and then, like a well-timed bit of stage business, a woman stood framed in the open door.
Dilling appreciated the dramatic note even while he resented it. On general principles he despised the theatrical.
“Oh, I am lucky!” cried his visitor, in a well-disciplined contralto. “I scarcely dared hope to find you alone. Every atom of courage I possessed oozed out of my finger-tips at the thought of interrupting a secret caucus, or some other of the dark conspiracies that are supposed to occupy our Members’ time!”
She advanced and extended an ungloved hand. Dilling touched her fingers without speaking.
“My name is Hebe Barrington,” she went on, “Mrs. Arthur, on my calling cards, you know . . . and I’m here on a desperately serious mission. Its success means everything to me, and you, yourself, Mr. Dilling, have buoyed me up with the hope that I shall not fail.”