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roar of laughter. ‘Or have you been tempted by some new branch of the Orthodox lately?’
    ‘Not yet,’ Martineau chuckled. ‘Not yet.’
    Then George said: ‘I expect you understood my position right from the start, Mr Martineau. After Mr Eden’s remarks, though, I should like to hear that you approve.’
    Martineau hesitated. Then he smiled, choosing his words: ‘I don’t consider you a man who needs approval, George. And it’s my duty to dissuade you, as Harry did. You mustn’t take it that I’m not dissuading you.’ He hesitated again. ‘But I think I understand what you feel.’
    George listened to the evasive reply: he may have heard within it another appeal to stop, subtler than Eden’s, because of the liking between himself and Martineau. He replied, seriously and simply: ‘You know that I’m not going into this for my own amusement. I’m not searching out an injustice just for the pleasure of trampling on it. I might have done once, but I shouldn’t now. You’ve understood, of course: something needs to be done for Cotery, and I’m the only man who can do it.’

 
     
5:   George’s Attack
     
    THE meeting of the School committee was summoned for the following Wednesday. I knew before George, since the notice passed through my hands in the education office. And, by asking a parting favour from an acquaintance, I got myself the job of taking the minutes.
    On Tuesday night, I thought that I might be wasting the effort: for a strong rumour came from Olive that Jack himself had pleaded with George to go no further. But when I saw George later that night, and asked, ‘What about tomorrow?’ he replied: ‘I’m ready for it. And ready to celebrate afterwards.’
    I arrived at the Principal’s room at ten minutes to six the next evening. The gas fire was burning; the Principal was writing at his desk under a shaded light; the room seemed solid and official, though the shelves and chairs were carved in pine, in a firm plain style which the School was now teaching.
    The Principal looked up as I laid the minute book on a small table; he was called Cameron, and had reddish hair and jutting eyebrows.
    ‘Good evening. I am sorry that we have to trespass on your time,’ he said. He always showed a deliberate consideration to subordinates; but from duty, not from instinct. At this time he probably did not know that I attended lectures at the School.
    Then Miss Geary, the vice-principal, entered. ‘It was for six o’clock?’ she said. They exchanged a few remarks about School business: it was easy to hear that there was no friendliness between them. But the temperature of friendliness in the room mounted rapidly when, by the side of Canon Martineau, Beddow came in. He was a Labour councillor, a brisk, cordial, youngish man, very much on the rise; he had a word for everyone, including an aside for me – ‘Minuting a committee means they think well of you up at the office. I know it does.’
    ‘I suppose we’re waiting for Calvert as usual,’ said Canon Martineau, who had a slight resemblance to his brother, but spoke with a drier and more sardonic tang. ‘And can anyone tell me how long this meeting is likely to last?’
    ‘No meeting ever seems likely to last long until you’ve been in it a few hours,’ said Beddow cheerfully. ‘But anyway, the sooner we begin this, the sooner we shall get through.’
    Ten minutes later, Calvert appeared, a small bald man, pink and panting from hurry. Beddow shook his hand warmly and pulled out a chair for him at the committee table.
    ‘I hope you won’t mind sitting by me,’ he said. He chatted to Calvert for a few moments about investments; and then briskly, but without any implication that Calvert was late, said: ‘Well, gentlemen, we’ve got a certain amount ahead of us tonight. If you don’t object I think we might as well begin.’
    The City Education Committee was made up partly from councillors and partly from others, like the Canon: in its