Dudley passed through into his study, put down his hat, and broke open the usual sealed packet of Parliamentary papers which reached him each night, and which contained among others, the draft of the questions to be addressed to him on the following day in his capacity of Foreign Under-Secretary in the House.
Without seating himself he took out the question paper and looked at it.
He glanced rapidly from paragraph to paragraph. Suddenly his gaze became fixed, and he held his breath. He read in the precise handwriting of Wrey, the following words:
“Mr Gerald Oldfield (Antrim West) to ask the Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs whether it is true that a certain member of this House, now a Member of Her Majesty’s Government, has sold to the representative of a Foreign Power a copy of certain confidential diplomatic correspondence, and further whether it is not a fact that the Member of Her Majesty’s Government referred to is guilty of the crime of wilful murder.”
The blue official paper fluttered from his nerveless fingers and fell to the ground.
“My God!” he gasped, his jaws rigid, his eyes staring and fixed. “My secret is already known to my enemies!”