"You see, sir," he said to the P. M., "you are the centre--the storm
centre--of a Suffragette plot of some sort. I was a fool not to have
guessed it, but I actually thought----Well, no matter what I thought. I
presume you were going to Gresham Place?"
Sir George nodded and groaned. A terrible flash of lightning was
followed almost instantly by a splintering crash. The very house rocked.
Mr. Harcourt closed the door.
"This is Harcourt Hall," he explained. "It's in bad shape, but we have
at least a roof. I think you are alone?" to me very curtly.