“Terrance, Victor. A wonderful speaker. Appears really to believe that what he says will benefit the working-man. Consequently very valuable; but indubitably mad.”
“Does he mean to insult us deliberately?” demanded Crofter, his voice still shaking with passion.
“But I don’t understand,” said Victor Terrance dazedly. “Does Mr. Peterson not believe in our teachings, too?” He turned slowly and looked at Hugh, who shrugged his shoulders.
“He should be here at any moment,” he answered, and as he spoke the door opened and Carl Peterson came in.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he began, and then he saw Hugh. With a look of speechless amazement he stared at the soldier, and for the first time since Hugh had known him his face blanched. Then his eyes fell on the open ledger, and with a dreadful curse he sprang forward. A glance at the faces of the men who stood watching him told him what he wanted to know, and with another oath his hand went to his pocket.
“Take your hand out, Carl Peterson.” Drummond’s voice rang through the room, and the arch-criminal, looking sullenly up, found himself staring into the muzzle of a revolver. “Now, sit down at the table—all of you. The meeting is about to commence.”
“Look here,” blustered Crofter, “I’ll have the law on you....”
“By all manner of means, Mr. John Crofter, consummate blackguard,” answered Hugh calmly. “But that comes afterwards. Just now—sit down.”
“I’m damned if I will,” roared the other, springing at the soldier. And Peterson, sitting sullenly at the table trying to readjust his thoughts to the sudden blinding certainty that through some extraordinary accident everything had miscarried, never stirred as a half-stunned Member of Parliament crashed to the floor beside him.
“Sit down, I said,” remarked Drummond affably. “But if you prefer to lie down, it’s all the same to me. Are there any more to come, Peterson?”