The editor, mentally burying himself in a mass of papers, was suddenly startled by a tremendous crash. Stirling had, in his excitement, brought his fist down heavily upon the table, causing Thompson's fountain pen to splutter all over a nearly completed leader, while the pastepot and a bottle of red ink indiscriminately shed their contents over the latest efforts on the part of The Westminster Record's parliamentary representative.
Thompson was on the point of using language that could hardly be termed parliamentary, even in these latter days of politics, when Stirling interrupted him.
"You haven't got it," he shouted, almost carried away in his excitement. "You've missed the whole point. Hamerton's back!"
"What do you mean?"
"Hamerton—Hamerton made his escape in the Zeppelin."
"Fact?" asked Thompson coolly, raising one eyebrow as was his wont.
"Rather. I saw him."
"Interviewed him?"
"No."
"Silly owl; you've missed the chance of a life-time. Carry on. Scribble half a dozen sticks—no, half a column. I'll get the space held open."