“I see,” Julian muttered.  “What you are prepared to plead guilty to is holding communication with members of the Labour and Socialist Party in Germany.”

“I plead guilty to nothing,” Furley answered, with a touch of his old fierceness.  “Don’t talk like your father and his class, Julian.  Get away from it.  Be yourself.  Your Ministers can’t end the war.  Your Government can’t.  They opened their mouth too wide at first.  They made too many commitments.  Ask Stenson.  He’ll tell you that I’m speaking the truth.  So it goes on, and day by day it costs the world a few hundred or a few thousand human lives, and God knows how much of man’s labour and brains, annihilated, wasted, blown into the air!  Somehow or other the war has got to stop, Julian.  If the politicians won’t do it, the people must.”

“The people,” Julian repeated a little sadly.  “Rienzi once trusted in the people.”

“There’s a difference,” Furley protested.  “Today the people are all right, but the Rienzi isn’t here—­My God!”

He broke off suddenly, pursuing another train of thought.  He leaned forward.

“Look here,” he said, “we’ll talk about the fate of that communication later.  What about Miss Abbeway?”

“Miss Abbeway,” Julian told him, “was in imminent danger last night of arrest as a spy.  Against my principles and all my convictions, I have done my best to protect her against the consequences of her ridiculous and inexcusable conduct.  I don’t know anything about your association, Furley, but I consider you a lot of rotters to allow a girl to take on a job like this.”

Furley’s eyes flashed in sympathy.

“It was a cowardly action, Julian,” he agreed.  “I’m hot with shame when I think of it.  But don’t, for heaven’s sake, think I had anything to do with the affair!  We have a secret service branch which arranges for those things.  It’s that skunk Fenn who’s responsible.  Damn him!”

“Nicholas Fenn, the pacifist!” Julian exclaimed.  “So you take vermin like that into your councils!”

“You can’t call him too hard a name for me at this moment,” Furley muttered.

“Nicholas Fenn,” Julian repeated, with a new light in his eyes.  “Why, the cable I censored was to him!  So he’s the arch traitor!”

“Nicholas Fenn is in it;” Furley admitted, “although I deny that there’s any treason whatever in the affair.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” Julian replied.  “What about your German hairdresser who was shot this morning?”

“It was a mistake to make use of him,” Furley confessed.  “Fenn has deceived us all as to the method of our communications.  But listen, Julian.  You’ll be able to get Miss Abbeway out of this?”

“If I don’t,” Julian replied, “I shall be in it myself, for I’ve lied myself black in the face already.”

“You’re a man, for all the starch in you, Julian,” Furley declared.  “If anything were to happen to that girl, I’d wring Fenn’s neck.”