“Yes, Sir Edward Kean speaking,” he said mechanically, his mind entirely occupied with the revelation Fayre had just made. Then, as he listened, the already ghastly pallor of his face increased.
“It’s Sybil,” he said, hardly above his breath as he dropped the receiver. “They’ve rung up from Westminster. It’s another attack.”
For a moment he sat staring blankly into space; then he turned to Fayre with a look of almost childish entreaty in his eyes.
“I must go to her, Hatter. For heaven’s sake, don’t keep me now!”
For answer Fayre picked up Kean’s hat and coat and handed them to him.
“We must have this out soon, Edward,” he said gravely. “No matter what happens.”
Kean was already struggling himself into his coat.
“At the earliest opportunity I promise you a full explanation. Will that do, Hatter?”
Fayre nodded. A moment later he was alone with his troubled thoughts. He strolled over to the table and, picking up the snapshot, put it back into his notecase. As he did so the door opened and Farrer, the old head clerk, looked in.
“I thought I heard Sir Edward go out, sir,” he said.