Late in July he finished the fourth story. ’ Gerald suppressed a grin. “Lucy, I have to talk to you. There is no further hope. . The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. 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. Do you think we could manage that old clothesman between us, if we got out of this box?" "I'd manage him myself, if my arms were free," replied Thames, boldly.
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