“Apparently from the Home Office, my lord--One moment. Yes?”--listening--” Very well.” Then turning towards the table: “They wish to communicate with the Lord Chief Justice.” Lord Malvern rose at once and went across to the instrument. “Well, what is it? Yes--I am Lord Malvern. What? Now--immediately?” The hum and buzz of the machine continued, ringing the changes of question and answer in the usual fashion. Then his lordship came back to the table, looking very grave. “Matters of great urgency have arisen, and our presence is desired immediately to confer with the Lord Chancellor and the Home Secretary, who are busily engaged on affairs of State. I am to request all who are here to accompany me at once.” “Where?--to Downing Street or Whitehall?” asked several voices. “To the House of Lords--the Home Secretary is there with the Chancellor at this moment.” “Westminster!--easier said than done,” murmured one of the judges. The telephone bell rang out again, and once more the Chief Justice hurried to the instrument and listened. “Yes, I hear. Do you say at the Temple Pier? What vessel?--the _John Milton_? Yes.” He turned to his anxious colleagues. “It is considered unsafe and impracticable to drive to Westminster, but a paddle-steamer--the _John Milton_--has been sent to the Temple Pier to convey us to Westminster. Come, gentlemen, we are the servants of the State and there is no time to lose.” And no time was lost. All rose from their seats, pushing the chairs back in noisy haste. Very few of those present had taken off their overcoats, owing to the coldness of the room. Hasty messages were given to the attendants for the coachmen who were waiting in Carey Street, and in a few minutes, split up into small parties, the whole judicial company emerged by various doors on the Clement’s Inn side of the building. They hurried across the crowded, turbulent Strand, with a few constables acting as an escort, and made their way, some _via_ Essex Street, and others through Arundel Street, to the Temple Pier. A cutting wind greeted them on the Embankment, and scattered snowflakes heralded a coming storm. The hiss of the escaping steam was heard, and the masthead light, with here and there a lantern on the decks, showed them the outline of the _John Milton_, lying alongside the pier, her bow towards Westminster. “I thought the County Council had sold the _Milton_.” “Well, here she is, and the sooner we’re on board and out of this the better,” said one of the magistrates as they hurried down the steps. The captain was already on the bridge, and one of his great earrings gleamed in the faint light of a lantern. “All below, please,” he called out sharply.