"Oh—Etchingham Granger . . ."
"Is he queer?" the other postulated.
I went slowly down the great staircase. A knot of men was huddled round the tape machine; others came, half trotting, half walking, to peer over heads, under arm-pits.
"What's the matter with that thing?" I asked of one of them.
"Oh, Grogram's up," he said, and passed me. Someone from a point of vantage read out:
"The Leader of the House (Sir C. Grogram, Devonport) said that . . ." The words came haltingly to my ears as the man's voice followed the jerks of the little instrument ". . . the Government obviously could not . . . alter its policy at . . . eleventh hour . . . at dictates of . . . quite irresponsible person in one of . . . the daily . . . papers."
I was wondering whether it was Soane or Callan who was poor old Grogram's "quite irresponsible person," when I caught the sound of Gurnard's name. I turned irritably away. I didn't want to hear that fool read out the words of that . . . It was like the warning croak of a raven in an old ballad.
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