And if the right man does it in the right way,
I'll lay my life 'twill be a nail in Sefborough's coffin."
Loder sat very still. Overwhelming possibilities had suddenly
opened before him. In a moment the unreality of the past
months had become real; a tangible justification of himself
and his imposture was suddenly made possible. In the stress
of understanding he, too, leaned forward, and, resting his
elbows on the desk, took his face between his hands.
For a space Lakely made no remark. To him man and man's moods
came second in interest to his paper and his party politics.
That Chilcote should be conscious of the glories he had opened
up seemed only natural; that he should show that consciousness
in a becoming gravity seemed only right. For some seconds he
made no attempt to disturb him; but at last his own
irrepressible activity made silence unendurable. He caught up
his pencil and tapped impatiently on the desk.
"Chilcote," he said, quickly and with a gleam of sudden
anxiety, "you're not by any chance doubtful of yourself?"
At sound of his voice Loder lifted his face; it was quite pale
again, but the energy and resolution that had come into it
when Lakely first spoke were still to be seen.
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