"
Again he paused.
"Plutonburg was right about having St. Alban in the crater of the
pit. But he was wrong to measure him by his Prussian standard.
St. Alban came on to London. He got the heads of the War Office
together and told them. I was there. It was the devil's own
muddle of a contrast. Outside, London was ringing with the man's
striking act of personal heroism. And inside of the Foreign
Office three or, four amazed persons were listening to the bitter
truth."
The Baronet spread out his hands with a sudden gesture.
"I shall always remember the man's strange, livid face; his
fingers that jumped about the cuff of his coat sleeve; and his
shaking jaw."
Sir Henry went over and sat down at the table. For a good while
he was silent. The sun filtering through the limbs of the great
oak-trees made mottled spots on his face. He seemed to turn away
from the thing he had been concerned with, and to see something
else, something wholly apart and at a distance from St. Alban's
affairs.
"You must have wondered like everybody else," he said, "why the
Allied drive on the Somme accomplished so little at first.
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