He threw me a typed sheet of paper.
"We shall be glad to know within the next ten days (expiring Saturday) when the Government will guarantee the introduction of a bill to give women the parliamentary vote on the same terms as it is enjoyed by men."
"How are you answering this?" I asked.
"My campaign in the Midlands is all arranged," was the reply, "and will go forward in due course."
"And Sylvia?"
"Anything that can be done will be done. I am offering two thousand pounds reward...."
"Are you making the whole thing public?"
"It's more than half public already. We tried to keep it secret, as you know. To avoid giving them a free advertisement. However, they've advertised themselves by broad hints in the New Militant; the gutter-press has taken it up until half England knows and the other half suspects. Rawnsley's seeing the Times, and you'll have the whole story in to-morrow's papers. I shall confirm it at Birmingham next week." He paused, and drummed with his fingers on the library table. "I can't answer for the men, but there's not a mother in the length and breadth of the land who won't be on our side when the story comes out."
The ultimate collapse of the whole New Militant campaign has proved his sagacity as a prophet.
"You've got no traces yet of Mavis Rawnsley and the Jefferson boy?" I asked.