If you will follow me into my
private room, Miss Abbeway, and you, Furley, I shall be glad to
tell you our exact position. And if the Bishop will accompany
you," he added, turning to the latter, "I shall be honoured."
Furley made no reply, but, whispering something in Catherine's
ear, took up his hat and left the room. The other two, however,
took Fenn at his word, followed him into his room, accepted the
chairs which he placed for them, and waited while he spoke through
a telephone to the private exchange situated in the building.
"They tell me," he announced, as he laid down the instrument,
"that Bright has this moment returned and is now on his way
upstairs."
Catherine shivered.
"Is Mr. Bright that awful-looking person who came to the last
Council meeting?"
"He is probably the person you mean," Fenn assented. "He takes
very little interest in our executive work, but he is one of the
most brilliant scientists of this or any other generation. The
Government has already given him three laboratories for his
experiments, and nearly every gas that is being used at the Front
has been prepared according to his formula."
"A master of horrors," the Bishop murmured.
"He looks it," Catherine whispered under her breath.
There was a knock at the door, a moment or two later, and Bright
entered. He was a little over medium height, with long and lanky
figure, a pronounced stoop, and black, curly hair of coarse
quality. His head, which was thrust a little forward, perhaps
owing to his short-sightedness, was long, his forehead narrow, his
complexion a sort of olive-green.
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