The stranger sat back abruptly at that, and his face worked.
"Well, sir, let me tell you this first. This old lady's son is my employer, and a very prominent Communist. She lives with him and his wife. The other two will be away to-night. That is why I am asking you all this. And now, you till come, sir?"
Percy looked at him steadily for a moment or two. Certainly, if this was a conspiracy, the conspirators were feeble folk. Then he answered:
"I will come, sir; I promise. Now the name."
The stranger again licked his lips nervously, and glanced timidly from side to side. Then he seemed to gather his resolution; he leaned forward and whispered sharply.
"The old lady's name is Brand, sir—the mother of Mr. Oliver Brand."
For a moment Percy was bewildered. It was too extraordinary to be true. He knew Mr. Oliver Brand's name only too well; it was he who, by God's permission, was doing more in England at this moment against the Catholic cause than any other man alive; and it was he whom the Trafalgar Square incident had raised into such eminent popularity. And now, here was his mother
He turned fiercely upon the man.
"I do not know what you are, sir—whether you believe in God or not; but will you swear to me on your religion and your honour that all this is true?"
The timid eyes met his, and wavered; but it was the wavering of weakness, not of treachery.
"I—I swear it, sir; by God Almighty."
"Are you a Catholic?"
