It was the old Blenkiron, but almightily changed.  His stoutness had gone, and he was as lean as Abraham Lincoln.  Instead of a puffy face, his cheek-bones and jaw stood out hard and sharp, and in place of his former pasty colour his complexion had the clear glow of health.  I saw now that he was a splendid figure of a man, and when he got to his feet every movement had the suppleness of an athlete in training.  In that moment I realized that my serious business had now begun.  My senses suddenly seemed quicker, my nerves tenser, my brain more active.  The big game had started, and he and I were playing it together.

I watched him with strained attention.  It was a funny speech, stuffed with extravagance and vehemence, not very well argued and terribly discursive.  His main point was that Germany was now in a fine democratic mood and might well be admitted into a brotherly partnership—­that indeed she had never been in any other mood, but had been forced into violence by the plots of her enemies.  Much of it, I should have thought, was in stark defiance of the Defence of the Realm Acts, but if any wise Scotland Yard officer had listened to it he would probably have considered it harmless because of its contradictions.  It was full of a fierce earnestness, and it was full of humour—­long-drawn American metaphors at which that most critical audience roared with laughter.  But it was not the kind of thing that they were accustomed to, and I could fancy what Wake would have said of it.  The conviction grew upon me that Blenkiron was deliberately trying to prove himself an honest idiot.  If so, it was a huge success.  He produced on one the impression of the type of sentimental revolutionary who ruthlessly knifes his opponent and then weeps and prays over his tomb.

Just at the end he seemed to pull himself together and to try a little argument.  He made a great point of the Austrian socialists going to Stockholm, going freely and with their Government’s assent, from a country which its critics called an autocracy, while the democratic western peoples held back.  ’I admit I haven’t any real water-tight proof,’ he said, ’but I will bet my bottom dollar that the influence which moved the Austrian Government to allow this embassy of freedom was the influence of Germany herself.  And that is the land from which the Allied Pharisees draw in their skirts lest their garments be defiled!’

He sat down amid a good deal of applause, for his audience had not been bored, though I could see that some of them thought his praise of Germany a bit steep.  It was all right in Biggleswick to prove Britain in the wrong, but it was a slightly different thing to extol the enemy.  I was puzzled about his last point, for it was not of a piece with the rest of his discourse, and I was trying to guess at his purpose.  The chairman referred to it in his concluding remarks.  ’I am in a position,’ he said, ’to bear out all that the lecturer has said.  I can go further.  I can assure him on the best authority that his surmise is correct, and that Vienna’s decision to send delegates to Stockholm was largely dictated by representations from Berlin.  I am given to understand that the fact has in the last few days been admitted in the Austrian Press.’