Bonar Deitz was continuing,'… in this motion of "no confidence"… a current example of a tragic case where humanitarian considerations, as well as human rights have been wantonly ignored'.

As Deitz paused there was a thumping of desk tops on the Opposition side. On the Government side a back-bencher called out, 'I wish we could ignore you.'

For a second the Opposition Leader hesitated.

The rough and tumble of the House of Commons had never appealed greatly to Bonar Deitz. Right from his own first election as a Member of Parliament years before, the House had always seemed to him remarkably like a sports arena where competing teams attempted to score points off each other at every opportunity. The rules of conduct, it seemed, were childishly simple: if some measure was favoured by your own party, it was naturally good; if favoured by another party, and not your own, it was just as automatically bad. There was seldom any in between. Similarly, to doubt your own party's stand on any issue and wonder if, for once, your opponents might be right and wiser, was considered disaffecting and disloyal.

It had been a jolt, also, to Deitz the scholar and intellectual, to discover that effective party loyalty extended to banging desk tops in support of other party members and hurling gibes and counter-gibes across the House in the manner of exuberant schoolboys, with sometimes a good deal less erudition than schoolboys might show. In time – long before he had become Opposition Leader – Bonar Deitz had learned to do both, though seldom without a degree of inward squirming.

The heckler had cried: 'I wish we could ignore you.''

His instinctive reaction was not to bother with a rude and silly interruption. But his own supporters, he knew, would expect some retaliation. Therefore he snapped back, 'The honourable member's wish is understandable since the Government he supports has ignored so much for so long.' He wagged an accusing finger at the other side of the House. 'But there will come a time when the conscience of this country can no longer be ignored.'

Not very good, Bonar Deitz decided inwardly. He suspected that the Prime Minister, who excelled in repartee, would probably have done better. But at least his attempt at counterattack had earned a volley of desk-top banging from the members behind him.

Now, responding, there were jeers, and shouts of 'Oh, oh,' and 'Are you our conscience?' from the other side.

'Order, order.' It was Mr Speaker, standing, putting on his tricorn hat. In a moment or two the hubbub died down.

'I referred to the conscience of our country,' Bonar Deitz proclaimed. 'Let me tell you what that conscience tells me. It tells me that we are one of the richest and most underpopulated nations in the world. And yet we are informed by the Government, through its Minister of Immigration, that there is not space here for this single unfortunate human being…'

In a separate compartment of his mind the Opposition Leader was aware that he was being verbally reckless. It was dangerous to put sentiments of that kind so unequivocally on record, because any party which came to power found speedily that political pressures for limiting immigration were too great to be ignored. Someday, Deitz knew, he might well regret his present ardent words.

But at moments – and this was one – the compromises of politics, the endless mealy-mouthed speeches, wearied and disgusted him. Today, for once, he would say what he believed forthrightly and hang the consequences!

In the Press gallery, he noted, heads were down.

Pleading for Henri Duval, an insignificant man whom he had never met, Bonar Deitz continued to address the House.

Across the centre aisle, James Howden was listening with half an ear. For the past few minutes he had been watching the clock at the south end of the chamber below the steeply-tiered ladies' gallery, three-quarters full today. He was aware that very soon a third of the reporters present would be leaving to file stories for their papers' late afternoon editions. With deadlines close, they would begin moving out at any moment. Listening carefully, he waited for an opening…

'Surely there are times,' Bonar Deitz declaimed, 'when humanitarian considerations should override stubborn adherence to the letter of the law?'

The Prime Minister was on his feet. 'Mr Speaker, will the Leader of the Opposition permit a question?'

Bonar Deitz hesitated. But it was a reasonable request he could hardly refuse. He said curtly, 'Yes.'

'Is the Leader of the Opposition suggesting,' Howden asked with sudden rhetoric, 'that the Government should ignore the law, the law of this country, enacted by Parliament…'

He was interrupted from the Opposition side by shouts of 'Question, question!' 'Get on with it!' 'It's a speech!' And from his own supporters came retaliatory cries of 'Order!' 'Listen to the question!' 'What are you afraid of?' Bonar Deitz, who had resumed his seat, was once more on his feet.

'I am coming to the crux of my question,' the Prime Minister declared loudly, his voice rising above the others, 'and it is simply this.' He paused, waiting for relative silence, and when it came he continued, 'Since it is plain that this unfortunate young man, Henri Duval, is in no way admissible to Canada under our own law, I ask the Leader of the Opposition if he is in favour of referring the case to the United Nations. And I may say that in any event it is the Government's intention to bring this matter immediately to United Nations attention…'

There was instant uproar. Once more, shouts, accusations and counter-accusations flew back and forth across the House. The Speaker was on his feet, his voice unheeded. Red-faced, his eyes blazing, Bonar Deitz faced the Prime Minister. He cried angrily, 'This is a device -'

And so it was.

In the press gallery, reporters were hurrying out. The interruption, the announcement, had been perfectly timed…

James Howden could predict the one-sentence lead on most news stories now being telephoned or typed: Henri Duval, the 'man-without-a-country, may have his case referred to the United Nations, the Prime Minister revealed to the House of Commons today. CP and BUP had probably sent three-bell bulletins already. 'DUVAL CASE GOES TO UN – PRIME MINISTER', the teletypes would clatter, and time-pressured editors, feverishly in search of a new angle, would use the words in headlines. The Opposition attack; Bonar Deitz's speech -these would be mentioned, of course, but in a secondary sense.

Inwardly glowing, the Prime Minister scribbled a one-line note to Arthur Lexington: 'Write a letter.' If questioned later, he must be able to state that the promise of an approach to UN had been properly fulfilled by External Affairs."

Bonar Deitz had resumed his interrupted speech. But there was a sense of lessened impact, of a bead of steam dispersed. James Howden was aware of it; he suspected Deitz was too.

Once, long ago, there had been a time when the Prime Minister had liked and respected Bonar Deitz despite the gulf of party politics dividing them. There had seemed an integrity and depth of character about the Opposition Leader, an honest consistency to all his actions, which was hard not to admire. But in time Howden's attitude had changed until nowadays he thought of Bonar Deitz with little more than tolerant contempt.

Mostly the change had come through Deitz's own performance as Opposition Leader. Many times, Howden had been aware, Bonar Deitz had failed to take full advantage of James Howden's own vulnerability on specific issues. That sometimes such action – or lack of it – argued a reasonable restraint, was (as Howden saw it) beside the point. A leader's role was to lead and, whenever advantage offered itself, to be tough and ruthless in taking it. Party politics was no cream-puff affair and inevitably the path to power was strewn with shattered hopes, and husks of other men's ambitions.