Westerham made no answer except to say, “You're wasting time, and if you take my advice you will not return to town along the same route by which you came.”
Then he turned on his heel and went back into the ball-room. There the men were busy sorting out the jewels on the floor and restoring them to their proper owners.
As Westerham came in there was a simultaneous movement towards him. A half-score of hands were outstretched and a hundred voices clamoured admiration and congratulation.
But Westerham held up his hand for silence.
“Be kind enough not to approach any nearer,” he said; “my business is with Lord Penshurst. If I have been of any service to you I am glad; but please let the matter rest at that.”
Westerham walked over to Lord Penshurst and looked reassuringly into his face.
“Lord Penshurst,” he said, “I shall be grateful if you can spare me a few minutes.”
“Certainly,” said the Prime Minister; “let us go to my own room.”
The Premier led the way across the hall and down a long corridor until he came to the library. He bowed Westerham in before him and afterwards closed the door.
There was open admiration in the Premier's eyes, but at the same time he was distressed and ill at ease. Like the diplomat he was, he waited for Westerham to speak the first word. Westerham spoke it.