He left his rooms last Thursday
at about a quarter past six, to take that packet to the Foreign
Office, or to make arrangements for its being received there. He
never reached the Foreign Office. He hasn't been heard of since.
Some of you know where he is. The Bishop and I want to go and
find him at once."
"Fenn and Bright know," Cross declared. "It's Bright's job."
"Why is Bright in it?" Catherine asked impatiently.
Cross frowned and puckered up his lips, an odd trick of his when
he was displeased.
"Bright represents the workers in chemical factories," he
explained. "They say that there isn't a poison in liquid, solid
or gas form, that he doesn't know all about. Chap who gives me
kind of shivers whenever he comes near. He and Fenn run the
secret service branch of the Council."
"If he knows where Mr. Orden is, couldn't we send for him at
once?" Catherine suggested.
"I'll go," Furley volunteered.
He was back in a few minutes.
"Fenn and Bright are both out," he announced, "and their rooms
locked up. I rang up Fenn's house, but he hasn't been back."
Catherine stamped her foot. She was on fire with impatience.
"Doesn't it seem too bad!" she exclaimed. "If we could only get
hold of Julian Orden to-night, if the Bishop and I could talk to
him for five minutes, we could have this message for which we have
been waiting so long."
The door was suddenly opened. Fenn entered and received a little
chorus of welcome. He was wearing a rough black overcoat over his
evening clothes, and a black bowler hat.
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