"Death," he said scornfully, "is not the greatest ill with which you could threaten me, but let it be so. Humanity shall be our motto--no other." "You spar at one another," Selingman declared, "like a couple of sophists. You are both men of the truth, you are both on your way to the light. I give you my benediction. I watch over you--I, Selingman. I am the witness of the joining of your hands. Unlock the gates without fear, Maraton. Maxendorf will do his work." CHAPTER XXXIV About seven miles from London, Selingman gave the signal for the car to pull up. They drew in by the side of the road and they all stood up in their places. Before them, the red glow which hung over the city was almost lurid; strange volumes of smoke were rising to the sky. "Rioters," Selingman muttered. Julia looked around with a little shiver. There were no trains running, and a great many of the shops were closed. Some of the people lounging about in the streets had the air of holiday makers. Little bands of men were marching arm in arm, shouting. Occasionally one of them picked up a stone and threw it through a shop window. They had not seen a policeman for miles. "It is the beginning of the end," Maraton said slowly. "The only pity is that one must see it at all." Julia pointed down the road. "What is that?" she asked. A long, grey-looking line was slowly unwinding itself into the level road. It came into sight like a serpent. It reached as far as the eye could see. From somewhere behind, they heard the sound of music. "Soldiers," Maraton replied--"marching, too." They moved the car over to the other side of the road. Presently a mounted officer galloped on ahead and rode up to them. "Your name and address, please?" Maraton hesitated. "Why do you ask for it?" he demanded. "I am sorry to inform you that your car must be surrendered at once," was the reply. "I hope we shall not inconvenience you very much but those are the general orders. Every motor car is to be commandeered. Sorry for the lady. Give me your name and address, please, at once, the cost price of your car, and how long it has been in your possession?" Selingman gasped. "Is the country at war?" he asked. "We have come from South Wales to-day. We heard nothing en route." "There are no newspapers being issued," the officer told them. "The telegraph is abandoned to the Government, and also the telephone. Even we have no idea what is happening. We are trying to run a few trains through to the north but we have had a couple of hundred men killed already. They are to start again the other side of Romford. In the meantime, I am sorry, but I am bound to take possession of your car at once." "My name is Selingman." The officer looked at him curiously. "Are you Henry Selingman," he enquired--"I mean the fellow who has been writing about Maraton?" Selingman nodded.