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Paul glanced at a bulky typescript which lay upon the table near his hand. The Key was complete and he had intended to deliver it in person to Bassett later the same morning. Strange doubts and wild surmises began to beat upon his brain and he shrank within himself, contemplative and somewhat fearful. A consciousness of great age crept over him like a shadow.
When the typescript came down, Paul signed and dispatched it and gave the Chief Whip a duplicate. "Well," said the latter, shaking hands, "the best of good luck!"
"Now, while we were at Chicago that time, Bassett came to me one day with the typescript of a one-act play and told me that it had been sent to him by a correspondent signing himself Marston Greyle; who in a covering letter, said that he sprang from an old English family, and that the play dealt with a historic, romantic episode in its history.
They were sound, weighty pronouncements, to which the House listened with respect; but they lacked the flashes which lit enthusiasm. One day he threw the bundle of typescript across to Paul. "See what you think of that." Paul saw and made daring pencilled amendments, and took it to the Colonel.
Nancy held out the typescript to the waiting man whose eyes had none of the smiling welcome they would have had in Hellbeam's absence. "Thank you." Elas glanced down at the neatly bound script. "It's all complete?" "Oh, yes. It's the whole story. It's in tabloid form. You will be able to take the whole close in half an hour."
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