went off in extreme haste to find his wife.

"My dear," he said to her in the carriage-way, "I must speak with you
alone." She was just starting off for a drive with Mrs. Rodney.

"Bad news, Carney?" she demanded, struck by his expression. She was
following him toward a remote corner of the approach. He did not reply
until they were seated, much nearer to each other than was their wont.

"Read that," he said, slipping the _Standard_ into her hands. "Wot do
you think of it?"

"My dear Carney, I don't know. Would you mind telling me what I am to
read?"

"The Medcroft thing. Right there."

She read the article, her husband watching her face the while. Surprise,
incredulity, dismay, succeeded each other in rapid changes. She was
reading in sheer amazement of the doings of Roxbury Medcroft in
connection with the County Council's sub-committee--_in London_! The
story went on to relate how Medcroft, implacable leader of the
opposition to the "grafters," suddenly had appeared before the committee
with the most astounding figures and facts to support his charges of
rottenness on the part of the "clique"; his unexpected descent upon the
scene had thrown the opposing leaders into a panic; every one had been
led to believe that he was sojourning in the east. As a matter of fact,
it was soon revealed, he had been in London, secretly working on the
problem, for nearly three weeks, keeping discreetly under cover in order
that his influence might not be thwarted. His array of facts, his bitter