Lord Southminster’s house needs no description.  It is probably, even to-day, as well known as any place in England:  there is no guide book which does not give at least three or four pages to the castle, as well as a few lines to the tiny historical seaside village beneath from which the marquisate derives its name.  And it was in the little dining-room that adjoined the hall that the man who had lost his memory found himself on this evening with half a dozen other men and a couple of ladies.

It was a small octagonal room, designed in one of the towers that looked out over the sea; panelled in painted wood and furnished with extreme plainness.  On one side a door opened upon the three little parlours that were used when the party was small; at the back a lobby led into the old hall itself; on the third side was the door used by the servants.

Lord Southminster himself was still a young man, who had not yet married.  His grandfather had become a Catholic in the reign of Edward VII; and the whole house had reverted to the old religion under which it had been originally built, with the greatest ease and grace.  The present owner was one of the rising politicians who were most determined to carry the Bill through; and he had already made for himself something of a reputation by his speeches in the Upper House.  Monsignor had met him half a dozen times already, and thoroughly liked this fair-haired, clean-shaven young man who was such a devoted adherent of the Catholic cause.

A little silence had fallen after old Lady Southminster and her sister had gone out, and it had been curious to notice how little had been said during dinner of the event that was proceeding in London.

Half a dozen times already since they had sat down a silent man in the black gown of a secretary had slipped in with a printed slip of paper and laid it before the Marquis and then disappeared again, and it was astonishing how the conversation had ceased on the instant, as the paper was read and passed round.

These messages had not been altogether reassuring.

The first was timed at 8.13, London, and had been read before the clock chimed the quarter-past.  It ran: 

“MEMBERS ARE ARRIVING AFTER DINNER.  HAZELTON MOBBED IN THE SQUARE.”

The second, ten minutes later, ran: 

“FOUR TITANIC-LINE BOATS FROM GERMANY REPORTED IN SIGHT.  CORDON OF POLICE-VOLORS COMPLETED.”

The third: 

“MOB REPORTED DIRECTION OF HAMPSTEAD.  THE PRIME MINISTER HAS BEGUN HIS SPEECH.  HOUSE FULL.”

The fourth, fifth, and sixth contained abstracts from the speech, and added that it was becoming increasingly difficult to hear, owing to the noise from outside.

Twenty minutes had now elapsed and no further message had been received.

* * * * *

Monsignor looked up at the Victorian clock over the carved mantelpiece and glanced at his host.  The young man’s eyes met his own.