'I suppose I can,' the voice grumbled. 'How much time have I?'
'Good man! Well, there's time enough–that's just the worst of it. I've got to depend on our local correspondent for tonight. The only good train of the day went half an hour ago. The next is a slow one, leaving Paddington at midnight. You could have the Buster, if you like'–Sir James referred to a very fast motor car of his–'but you wouldn't get down in time to do anything tonight.'
'And I'd miss my sleep. No, thanks. The train for me. I am quite fond of railway travelling, you know; I have a gift for it. I am the stoker and the stoked. I am the song the porter sings.'
'What's that you say?'
'It doesn't matter,' said the voice sadly. 'I say,' it continued, 'will your people look out a hotel near the scene of action, and telegraph for a room?'
'At once,' said Sir James. 'Come here as soon as you can.'
He replaced the receiver. As he turned to his papers again a shrill outcry burst forth in the street below. He walked to the open window.
