“You wish him to continue in his present high position?” Thomson said slowly,—­“a man who is convicted of having treasonable correspondence with our enemy?”

“We wish him left alone,” Mr. Gordon Jones continued earnestly, “not for his own sake but for ours.  When the time comes, later on, it may be possible for us to deal with him.  To-day, no words of mine could explain to you his exact utility.  He has a finger upon the money-markets of the world.  He has wealth, great wealth, and commands great wealth in every city.  Frankly, this man as an open enemy today could bring more harm upon us than if any neutral Power you could name were to join the Triple Alliance.  Remember, too, Major Thomson, that there may be advantages to us in this waiting attitude.  Since your warning, his letters can be admitted to censorship.  You have the control of a great staff of military detectives; the resources of Scotland Yard, too, are at your service.  Have him watched day and night, his letters opened, his every movement followed, but don’t provoke him to open enmity.  We don’t want him in the Tower.  The scandal and the shock of it would do us enormous harm, apart from the terrible financial panic which would ensue.  We will see to it that he does no further mischief than he may already have done.  We make an appeal to you, all of us here to-night.  Be guided entirely by us in this matter.  You have rendered the country great service by your discovery.  Render it a greater one, Major Thomson, by keeping that discovery secret.”

“I will not make conditions with you,” Thomson replied gravely.  “I will say at once that I am perfectly willing to yield to your judgement in this matter.  In return I ask something.  I have more serious charges still to bring against Sir Alfred’s nephew.  Will you leave the matter of dealing with this young man in my hands?”

“With pleasure,” the Premier agreed.  “I think, gentlemen,” he added, looking around the table, “that we need not detain Major Thomson any longer?  We others have still a little business to finish.”

It was all over in those few minutes and Thomson found himself in the street again.  He guided his way by the railings into Whitehall.  The blackness seemed to him to be now less impenetrable.  Looking fixedly eastward he seemed to be conscious of some faint lightening in the sky.  He heard the rumbling of carts in the road, the horses mostly being led by their drivers.  Here and there, an odd taxicab which had escaped the police orders came along with one lamp lit, only to be stopped in a few yards and escorted to the edge of the pavement.  All the way up Whitehall there was one long line of taxicabs, unable to ply for hire or find their way to the garages until daylight.  The unusualness of it all was almost stimulating.  At the top of the broad thoroughfare, Thomson turned to the left through the Pall Mall Arch and passed into St. James’s Park.  He strolled slowly along until he came to the thoroughfare to