permanent legal adviser, your opinion must still----"

Cumberland Vane exploded with a detonation of oaths; his face was
transfigured with fury and contempt, and yet in some odd way he
did not seem specially angry with Turnbull.

"But Lord bless us and save us!" he gasped, at length; "I'm not
here as an official at all. I'm here as a patient. The cursed
pack of rat-catching chemists all say that I've lost my wits."

"You!" cried Turnbull with terrible emphasis. "You! Lost your
wits!"

In the rush of his real astonishment at this towering unreality
Turnbull almost added: "Why, you haven't got any to lose." But he
fortunately remembered the remains of his desperate diplomacy.

"This can't go on," he said, positively. "Men like MacIan and I
may suffer unjustly all our lives, but a man like you must have
influence."

"There is only one man who has any influence in England now,"
said Vane, and his high voice fell to a sudden and convincing
quietude.

"Whom do you mean?" asked Turnbull.

"I mean that cursed fellow with the long split chin," said the
other.