“Freistner’s letters for weeks,” Fenn answered, “have spoken of the wonderful wave of socialistic feeling throughout the country.  He is an honest man, and he does not exaggerate.  He assures us that half the nation is pledged.”

“One man,” David Sands remarked thoughtfully.  “If, there is a weak point about this business, which I am not prepared wholly to admit, it is that the entire job on that side seems to be run by one man.  There’s a score of us.  I should like to hear of more on the other side.”

“It is strange,” Mr. Stenson pointed out, “that so little news of this gain of strength on the part of the Socialists has been allowed to escape from Germany.  However rigid their censorship, copies of German newspapers reach us every day from neutral countries.  I cannot believe that Socialism has made the advance Freistner claims for it, and I agree with our friends, Mr. Cross and Mr. Sands here, that you ought to be very sure that Freistner is not deceived before you take this extreme measure.”

“We are content to trust to our brothers in Germany,” Fenn declared.

“I am not convinced that we should be wise to do so,” Julian intervened.  “I am in favour of our taking a few more days to consider this matter.”

“And I am against any delay,” Fenn objected hotly.  “I am for immediate action.”

“Let me explain where I think we have been a little hasty,” Julian continued earnestly.  “I gather that the whole correspondence between this body and the Socialist Party in Germany has been carried on by Mr. Fenn and Freistner.  There are other well-known Socialists in Germany, but from not one of these have we received any direct communication.  Furthermore—­and I say this without wishing to impugn in any way the care with which I am sure our secretary has transcribed these letters—­at a time like this I am forced to remember that I have seen nothing but copies.”

Fenn was on his feet in a moment, white with passion.

“Do you mean to insinuate that I have altered or forged the letters?” he shouted.

“I have made no insinuations,” Julian replied.  “At the same time, before we proceed to extremities, I propose that we spend half an hour studying the originals.”

“That’s common sense,” Cross declared.  “There’s no one can object to that.  I’m none so much in favour of these typewritten slips myself.”

Fenn turned to whisper to Bright.  Mr. Stenson rose to his feet.  The glare of the unshaded lamp fell upon his strained face.  He seemed to have grown older and thinner since his entrance into the room.