"Hullo! That's right," he said, laconically. "Make yourself
comfortable half a second, while I skim the 'St. Stephen's'."
His salutation pleased Loder. With a nod of acquiescence he
crossed the office to the brisk fire that burned in, the
grate.
For a minute or two Lakely worked steadily, occasionally
breaking the quiet by an unintelligible remark or a vigorous
stroke of his pencil. At last he dropped the paper with a
gesture of satisfaction and leaned back in his chair.
"Well," he said, "what d'you think of this? How's this for a
complication?"
Loder turned round. "I think," he said, quietly, "that we
can't overestimate it."
Lakely laughed and took a long pull at his cigar. "And we
mustn't be afraid to let the Sefborough crowd know it, eh?"
He waved his hand to the poster of the first edition that hung
before his desk.
Loder, following his glance, smiled.
Lakely laughed again. "They might have known it all along, if
they'd cared to deduce," he said. "Did they really believe
that Russia was going to sit calmly looking across the Heri-Rud
while the Shah played at mobilizing? But what became of you
last night? We had a regular prophesying of the whole business
at Bramfell's; the great Fraide looked in for five minutes.
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