"Why not?" I demanded, but my voice quavered too much to be effective.
"Mr. Beresford's been arrested."
"But, in God's name, what for?"
"That's none of my business," was the answer.
George was diving significantly into his trouser-pocket, but I felt that what lay before me was too serious for trifling with half-crowns. I handed the man my card and repeated my request.
"It's not mere curiosity," I said. "If you don't tell me, there are others who will; but I want to save time."
I always have the letters "M.P." printed on my cards to impress government departments, for throughout the public service there is an inherited dread that a question may be asked in the House; the hierarchy from top to bottom makes it the first business of life to avoid such publicity. This instinct of self-preservation, deeply-rooted as a horse's fear of a snake in the grass, led the constable to inform me promptly that Beresford had been arrested for issuing seditious literature; his flat was at the moment being searched.
My own sigh of relief was drowned by a deeper sigh from George.
"When did this take place?" he asked.
"To-day, sir. I can't tell you the time; I've only just come on duty."