“When I come back from Rome,” Anna went on, “I shall have more to tell you.  I believe that I shall be able to tell you even the date of the great happening.  I wonder what other commissions he will give you.  The one to-night is simple.  Be careful, dear.  Think—­think hard before you make up your mind.  Remember that there is some duplicity which might become suddenly obvious.  An official statement might upset everything.  These English papers are so garrulous.  You might find yourself hard-pressed for an explanation.”

“I’ll be careful, dear,” Norgate assured her, as they stood at last before the door of her compartment.  “And of ourselves?”

She lifted her veil.

“We have so little time,” she murmured.

“But have you thought over what I suggested?” he begged.

She laughed at him softly.

“It sounds quite attractive,” she whispered.  “Shall we talk of it when I come back from Italy?  Good-by, dear!  Of course, I do not really want to kiss you, but our friend under the gas-lamp is looking—­and you know our engagement!  It is so satisfactory to dear Mr. Selingman.  It is the one genuine thing about us, isn’t it?  So good-by!”

The long train drew out from the platform a few minutes later.  Norgate lingered until it was out of sight.  Then he took a taxi and drove to the House of Commons.  He sent in a card addressed to David Bullen, Esq., and waited for some time.  At last a young man came down the corridor towards him.

“I am Mr. Bullen’s private secretary,” he announced.  “Mr. Bullen cannot leave the House for some time.  Would you care to go into the Strangers’ Gallery, or will you wait in his room?”

“I should like to listen to the debate, if it is possible,” Norgate decided.

A place was found for him with some difficulty.  The House was crowded.  The debate concerned one of the proposed amendments to the Home Rule Bill, not in itself important, yet interesting to Norgate on account of the bitter feeling which seemed to underlie the speeches of the extreme partisans on either side.  The debate led nowhere.  There was no division, no master mind intervening, yet it left a certain impression on Norgate’s mind.  At a little before ten, the young man who had found him his place touched his shoulder.

“Mr. Bullen will see you now, sir,” he said.

Norgate followed his conductor through a maze of passages into a barely-furnished but lofty apartment.  The personage whom he had come to see was standing at the further end, talking somewhat heatedly to one or two of his supporters.  At Norgate’s entrance, however, he dismissed them and motioned his visitor to a chair.  He was a tall, powerful-looking man, with the eyes and forehead of a thinker.  There was a certain laconic quality in his speech which belied his nationality.

“You come to me, I understand, Mr. Norgate,” he began, “on behalf of some friends in America, not directly, but representing a gentleman who in his letter did not disclose himself.  It sounds rather complicated, but please talk to me.  I am at your service.”