Every
hand in the room except the Bishop's, Furley's, Cross's and
Julian's was raised. Fenn led the way towards the door.
"We've our work to do, chaps," he said. "We'll leave the others
to talk till daylight, if they want to."
CHAPTER XX
Julian and Furley left the place together. They looked for the
Bishop but found that he had slipped away.
"To Downing Street, I believe," Furley remarked. "He has some
vague idea of suggesting a compromise."
"Compromise!" Julian repeated a little drearily. "How can there
be any such thing! There might be delay. I think we ought to
have given Stenson a week--time to communicate with America and
send a mission to France."
"We are like all theorists," Furley declared moodily, stopping to
relight his pipe. "We create and destroy on palter with amazing
facility. When it comes to practice, we are funks."
"Are you funking this?" Julian asked bluntly.
"How can any one help it? Theoretically we are right--I am sure
of it. If we leave it to the politicians, this war will go
dragging on for God knows how long. It's the people who are
paying. It's the people who ought to make the peace. The only
thing that bothers me is whether we are doing it the right way.
Is Freistner honest? Could he be self-deceived? Is there any
chance that he could be playing into the hands of the
Pan-Germans?"
"Fenn is the man who has had most to do with him," Julian
remarked. "I wouldn't trust Fenn a yard, but I believe in
Freistner.
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