The libel he was about to utter on his distinguished colleague was suddenly cut short by a knock at the door; and, in answer to his summons, the butler-looking person entered and announced that Sir George Frinton and Mr. Casement were waiting for an audience.

“Show them up at once,” said his lordship gravely; and then turning to Latimer as the man left the room he added, with a reflective smile:  “I should never have believed that the Foreign Office could be so entertaining.”

CHAPTER XXV

A LITTLE FAMILY PARTY

The moment that Sir George Frinton reached the threshold, one could see that he was seriously perturbed.  He entered the room in an energetic, fussy sort of manner, and came bustling across to Lord Lammersfield, who had risen from the table to meet him.  He was followed by a grey-haired, middle-aged man, who strolled in quietly, looked across at Latimer, and then threw a sharp penetrating glance at Tommy and me.

It was Lammersfield who spoke first.  “I was sorry to bother you, Frinton,” he said pleasantly, “but the matter has so much to do with your department I thought you ought to be present.”

Sir George waved away the apology.  “You were perfectly right, Lord Lammersfield—­perfectly right.  I should have come over in any case.  It is an astounding story.  I have been amazed—­positively amazed—­at Mr. Casement’s revelations.  Can it be possible there is no mistake?”

“Absolutely none,” answered Latimer calmly.  “Our people have moved with the utmost discretion, and we have the entire evidence in our hands.”  He turned to Casement.  “You have acquainted Sir George with the whole of this morning’s events?”

The quiet man nodded.  “Everything,” he observed, in rather fatigued voice.

“I understand,” said the Home Secretary, “that this man Lyndon is actually here.”

With a graceful gesture Lord Lammersfield indicated where I was standing.

“Let me introduce you to each other,” he said.  “Mr. Neil Lyndon—­Sir George Frinton.”

I bowed respectfully, and when I raised my head again I saw that the Home Secretary was contemplating me with a puzzled stare.

“You—­your face seems strangely familiar to me,” he observed.

“You evidently have a good memory, Sir George,” I replied.  “I had the honour and pleasure of travelling up from Exeter to London with you about a fortnight ago.”

A sudden light came into his face, and adjusting his spectacles he stared at me harder than ever.

“God bless my soul!” he exclaimed.  “Of course, I remember now.”  He paused.  “And do you mean to tell me that you—­an escaped convict—­were actually aware that you were travelling with the Home Secretary?”

I saw no reason for dimming the glory of the incident.

“You were kind enough to give me one of your cards,” I reminded him.