"I should be sorry to persuade him to do anything his calmer judgment might disapprove. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. You can have no shecrets from me. The poor fellow's half smothered. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. Mr. I am tired, and I want to be alone. ” Mr.
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