“Let ’em open it,” said Bat grimly, and as though the people outside had heard the invitation, the door crashed in, and there came a patter as of men running on the stairs. First to enter the room was Angel. He nodded to Bat coolly, then stepped aside to allow the policemen to follow. “I want you,” he said briefly. “What for?” asked Sands. “Breaking and entering,” said the detective. “Put out your hands!” Bat obeyed. As the steel stirrup-shaped irons snapped on his wrists he asked-- “Have you got Connor?” Angel smiled. “Connor lives to fight another day,” he said quietly. The policemen who attended him were busy with the other occupants of the room. “Bit of a field-day for you, Mr. Angel,” said the thin-faced Lamby pleasantly. “Thought you was goin’ to let us off?” “Jumping at conclusions hastily is a habit to be deplored,” said Angel sententiously. Then he saw the panic-stricken Mr. Lane. “Hullo, what’s this?” he demanded. Mr. Lane had at that moment the inspiration of his life. Since he was by fortuitous circumstances involved in this matter, and since it could make very little difference one way or the other what he said, he seized the fame that lay to his hand. “I am one of the ‘Borough Lot,’” he said, and was led out proud and handcuffed with the knowledge that he had established beyond dispute his title to consideration as a desperate criminal. * * * * * Mr. Spedding was a man who thought quickly. Ideas and plans came to him as dross and diamonds come to the man at the sorting table, and he had the faculty of selection. He saw the police system of England as only the police themselves saw it, and he had an open mind upon Angel’s action. It was within the bounds of possibility that Angel had acted with full authority; it was equally possible that Angel was bluffing. Mr. Spedding had two courses before him, and they were both desperate; but he must be sure in how, so far, his immediate liberty depended upon the whim of a deputy-assistant-commissioner of police. Angel had mentioned a supreme authority. It was characteristic of Spedding that he should walk into a mine to see how far the fuse had burned. In other words, he hailed the first cab, and drove to the House of Commons. The Right Honorable George Chandler Middleborough, His Majesty’s Secretary of State for Home Affairs, is a notoriously inaccessible man; but he makes exceptions, and such an exception he made in favor of Spedding. For eminent solicitors do not come down to the House at ten o’clock in the evening to gratify an idle curiosity, or to be shown over the House, or beg patronage and interest; and when a business card is marked “most urgent,” and that card stands for a staple representative of an important profession, the request for an interview is not easily refused. Spedding was shown into the minister’s room, and the Home Secretary rose with a smile. He knew Mr. Spedding by sight, and had once dined in his company.