“This is just part of the ratting!” he exclaimed.  “I never keep a communication from Freistner.  I have told you so before.  The preliminary letters I had you all saw, and we deliberated upon them together.  Since then, all that I have had have been friendly messages, which I have destroyed.”

There was a little uncertain murmur.  Julian proceeded.

“You see,” he said, “Mr. Fenn is not able to clear himself from my first accusation.  Now let us hear what he will do with this one.  Mr. Fenn started life, I believe, as a schoolmaster at a parish school, a very laudable and excellent occupation.  He subsequently became manager to a firm of timber merchants in the city and commenced to interest himself in Labour movements.  He rose by industry and merit to his present position—­a very excellent career, but not, I should think, a remunerative one.  Shall we put his present salary down at ten pounds a week?”

“What the devil concern is this of yours?” the goaded man shouted.

“Of mine and all of us,” Julian retorted, “for I come now to a certain question.  Will you disclose your bank book?”

Fenn reeled for a moment in his seat.  He affected not to have heard the question.

“My what?” he stammered.

“Your bank book,” Julian repeated calmly.  “As you only received your last instalment from Germany this week, you probably have not yet had time to purchase stocks and shares or property wherever your inclination leads you.  I imagine, therefore, that there would be a balance there of something like thirty thousand pounds, the last payment made to you by a German agent now in London.”

Fenn sprang to his feet.  He had all the appearance of a man about to make a vigorous and exhaustive defence.  And then suddenly he swayed, his face became horrible to look upon, his lips were twisted.

“Brandy!” he cried.  “Some one give me brandy!  I am ill!”

He collapsed in a heap.  They carried him on to a seat set against the wall, and Catherine bent over him.  He lay there, moaning.  They loosened his collar and poured restoratives between his teeth.  For a time he was silent.  Then the moaning began again.  Julian returned to the table.

“Believe me,” he said earnestly, “this is as much a tragedy to me as to any one present.  I believe that every one of you here except—­” he glanced towards the sofa—­“except those whom we will not name have gone into this matter honestly, as I did.  We’ve got to chuck it.  Tear up your telegrams.  Let me go to see Stenson this minute.  I see the truth about this thing now as I never saw it before.  There is no peace for us with Germany until she is on her knees, until we have taken away all her power to do further mischief.  When that time comes let us be generous.  Let us remember that her working men are of the same flesh and blood as ours and need to live as you need to live.  Let us see that