In the little room in the front of the house Westerham established a species of impromptu police-court. One by one the members of the club were brought in to him, and one by one they satisfied him that they had no knowledge of Melun's whereabouts.
Still, Westerham had them safely kept under lock and key. It was noon when this curious inquisition was over, and then he immediately returned to Downing Street and sought the Premier's room.
As Westerham entered he looked up with a smile which he fondly imagined was cheerful. His words were gloomy enough, and to Westerham seemed to have a certain amount of reproach in them.
“Do you realise,” he said, “that we have practically only twenty-four hours left in which to find Lady Kathleen and to recover the papers?”
Westerham straightened himself up and looked squarely at the Premier.
“The time is short,” he said quietly, “but I have no fear that we shall not succeed.
“You must remember,” he went on, “that up to the present it is we who have made all the efforts. What is Melun doing? It is very strange that he should have remained quiet so long. It is my opinion that he has put off communication until the last possible moment in order to make his claims all the more effective.”
“Do you really think that is so?” cried Lord Penshurst eagerly. “For my part, I was beginning to fear that, despairing of being able to move us, he had crossed to Germany in hopes of making terms there.”
Westerham shook his head in dissent at this view of the question, though, as a matter of fact, he was growing terribly anxious himself lest Melun should after all have transferred his efforts to Prussia.
“No, no!” he said to the Premier, “I am perfectly certain that he will turn up just in the nick of time. Otherwise, why should he hold Lady Kathleen as hostage for so long? You may, I think, rest assured that he would not still be detaining her if he had abandoned all hope of being able to reduce us to surrender.”