"He says: 'Our former negotiation was ruined by premature talk, but this last disclosure can only be referred to treachery or gross carelessness.' What does this mean? I know of no disclosure, Mr. Scratchley. I must have an explanation, and you, I presume, are here to give me one."
For a moment the other seemed taken aback. "You have not seen the
Times?" he murmured.
"This morning's? No. But it is here."
He snatched it, as he spoke, from a table at his elbow, and unfolded it. The secretary approached and pointed to the head of a column—the most conspicuous, the column most readily to be found in the paper. "They are crying it at every street corner I passed," he added apologetically. "There is nothing to be heard in St. James's Street and Pall Mall but 'Detailed Programme of the Coalition.' The other dailies are striking off second editions to contain it!"
Mr. Stafford's eyes were riveted to the paper, and there was a long pause, a pause on his part of dismay and consternation. He could scarcely—to repeat a common phrase—believe his eyes. "It seems," he muttered at length, "it seems fairly accurate—a tolerably precise account, indeed."
"It is a verbatim copy," said the secretary drily. "The question is, who furnished it. Lord Pilgrimstone, I am authorized to say, has not permitted his note of the agreement to pass out of his possession—even up to the present moment."
"And so he concludes," the Minister said thoughtfully—"it is a fair inference enough, perhaps—that the Times must have procured its information from my note?"
"No!" the secretary objected sharply and forcibly. "It is not a matter of inference, Mr. Stafford. I am directed to say that. I have inquired, early as it is, at the Times office, and learned that the copy printed came directly from the hands of your messenger."
"Of my messenger!" Mr. Stafford cried, thunderstruck. "You are sure of that?"
"I am sure that the sub-editor says so."