The first protest was made when
they paid the visit which they had purposely left until last.
Nicholas Fenn had apparently finished or discontinued his efforts.
He was seated in front of his desk, his chin almost resting upon
his folded arms, and a cigarette between his lips. Bright was
lounging in an easy-chair within a few feet of him. Their heads
were close together; their conversation, whatever the subject of
it may have been, was conducted in whispers. Apparently they had
not heard Julian's knock, for they started apart, when the door
was opened, like conspirators. There was something half-fearful,
half-malicious in Fenn's face, as he stared at them.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "What's wrong?"
Julian closed the door.
"A great deal," he replied curtly. "We have been around to every
one of the delegates and asked them to assemble in the Council
room. Will you and Bright come at once?"
Fenn looked from one to the other of his visitors and remained
silent for a few seconds.
"Climbing down, eh?" he asked viciously.
"We have some information to communicate," Julian announced.
Fenn moved abruptly away, out of the shadow of the electric lamp
which hung over his desk. His voice was anxious, unnatural.
"We can't consider any more information," he said harshly. "Our
decisions have been taken. Nothing can affect them. That's the
worst of having you outsiders on the board. I was certain you
wouldn't face it when the time came.
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