She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. 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. The advanced guard rode on to drive away any opposition, while the main body of the procession crossed the bridge, and slowly toiled up Holborn Hill. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. And, besides, she didn’t just immediately want to make her attempt. ‘Very well, Kimble. Briefly explained, she was as the child who discards the rag baby for the living one. ‘Aha,’ grunted Gerald with satisfaction, squinting up at the two open shutters on the second floor. The fever came. “I think I ought to have one. ’ Fresh suspicion kindled in his breast.
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