"Here are some
of the editors asking questions already, and I'll bet the evening
papers will be like dogs about a bone. This man may be a damned
fool, but he's dangerous: that's to say he has started mischief."
"Oh, surely--not dangerous?" Foe queried, with an odd lift of his
eyebrows.
"If I were you, at all events, I'd go straight and consult your man--
what's his name? Travers?--at once. My taxi is waiting, and I'll
run across in time to interview him before you start your morning's
work. Did he show you his answer to these precious Memorialists
before he posted it?"
For the moment Foe ignored my question. "Dangerous?" he repeated in
a musing, questioning way. "Do you really think . . . I beg your
pardon, Roddy . . . Eh? You were asking about Travers. Yes, he
showed me his answer. Very good answer, I thought. It just told
them to mind their own business."
"Did he say that, in so many words?" I asked.
"Let me think. . . . So far as I remember he put it rather neatly.
. . . Yes, he wrote that he was not prepared to worry his staff with
vague charges, or to invite an inquiry on the strength of
representations which--so far as he could attach a meaning to them--
meant what was false.
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