The message was interesting as well as imperative, and he made an instant response.  The thought of Lakely’s keen eyes and shrewd enthusiasms always possessed strong attractions for his own slower temperament, but even had this impetus been lacking, the knowledge that at the ‘St. George’s’ offices, if anywhere, the true feelings of the party were invariably voiced would have drawn him without hesitation.

It was scarcely twelve o’clock when he turned the corner of the tall building, but already the keen spirit that Lakely everywhere diffused was making itself felt.  Loder smiled to himself as his eyes fell on the day’s placards with their uncompromising headings, and passed onward from the string of gayly painted carts drawn up to receive their first consignment of the paper to the troop of eager newsboys passing in and out of the big swing-doors with their piled-up bundles of the early edition; and with a renewed thrill of anticipation and energy he passed through the doorway and ran up-stairs.

Passing unchallenged through the long corridor that led to Lakely’s office, he caught a fresh impression of action and vitality from the click of the tape machines in the subeditors’ office, and a glimpse through the open door of the subeditors themselves, each occupied with his particular task; then without time for further observation he found himself at Lakely’s door.  Without waiting to knock, as he had felt compelled to do on the one or two previous occasions that business had brought him there, he immediately turned the handle and entered the room.

Editors’ offices differ but little in general effect.

Lakely’s surroundings were rather more elaborate than is usual, as became the dignity of the oldest Tory evening paper, but the atmosphere was unmistakable.  As Loder entered he glanced up from the desk at which he was sitting, but instantly returned to his task of looking through and marking the pile of early evening editions that were spread around him.  His coat was off and hung on the chair behind him, axed he pulled vigorously on a long cigar.

“Hullo!  That’s right,” he said, laconically.  “Make yourself comfortable half a second, while I skim the ’St. Stephen’s’.”

His salutation pleased Loder.  With a nod of acquiescence he crossed the office to the brisk fire that burned in, the grate.

For a minute or two Lakely worked steadily, occasionally breaking the quiet by an unintelligible remark or a vigorous stroke of his pencil.  At last he dropped the paper with a gesture of satisfaction and leaned back in his chair.

“Well,” he said, “what d’you think of this?  How’s this for a complication?”

Loder turned round.  “I think,” he said, quietly, “that we can’t overestimate it.”

Lakely laughed and took a long pull at his cigar.  “And we mustn’t be afraid to let the Sefborough crowd know it, eh?” He waved his hand to the poster of the first edition that hung before his desk.