the little instrument "... the Government obviously could not ... alter
its policy at ... eleventh hour ... at dictates of ... quite
irresponsible person in one of ... the daily ... papers."

I was wondering whether it was Soane or Callan who was poor old
Grogram's "quite irresponsible person," when I caught the sound of
Gurnard's name. I turned irritably away. I didn't want to hear that fool
read out the words of that.... It was like the warning croak of a raven
in an old ballad.

I began desultorily to descend to the smoking-room. In the Cimmerian
gloom of the stairway the voice of a pursuer hailed me.

"I say, Granger! I say, Granger!"

I looked back. The man was one of the rats of the lower journalism,
large-boned, rubicund, asthmatic; a mass of flesh that might, to the
advantage of his country and himself, have served as a cavalry trooper.
He puffed stertorously down towards me.

"I say, I say," his breath came rattling and wheezing. "What's up at the
_Hour?_"

"I'm sure I don't know," I answered curtly.

"They said you took it yesterday. You've been playing the very devil,
haven't you? But I suppose it was not off your own bat?"

"Oh, I never play off my own bat," I answered.