Cromwell was so busy during the rest of the day that there was no opportunity to explain the circumstances to him; indeed he was hardly in the room again, so great was the crowd that waited on him continually for interviews, and Ralph went away, leaving the reports for his chief to examine at his leisure.
The next morning there was a storm.
Cromwell burst out on him as soon as he came in.
“Shut the door, Mr. Torridon,” he snapped. “I must have a word with you.”
Ralph closed the door and came across to Cromwell’s table and stood there, apparently imperturbable, but with a certain quickening of his pulse.
“What is this, sir?” snarled the other, taking up the letter that was laid at his hand. “Is it true?”
Ralph looked at him coolly.
“What is it, my Lord? Mr. Robert Benham?”
“Yes, Mr. Robert Benham. Is it true? I wish an answer.”