“I know you’d be careful, you Cornish whisper. Careful Jimmy’s your name and nation. But I _hope_ I did one or two of ’em in. And I _did_ do one or two of ’em in. See the brains sputter out of that chap that shot ’Roo?” “And suppose they arrest you to-night and shove you in gaol for manslaughter?” said Jaz. “I wouldn’t advise anybody to lay as much as a leaf of maidenhair fern on me to-night, much less a finger.” “They might to-morrow. You be still, and go home.” Jack relapsed into a white silence. Jaz went into the common room again, where members dropped in from the town. Apparently everything had gone quiet. It was determined that everybody should go home as quietly and quickly as possible. Richard found himself in the street with Jaz and Jack, both of whom were silent. They walked briskly through the streets. Groups of people were hurrying silently home. The town felt very dark, and as if something very terrible had happened. A few taxi-cabs were swiftly and furtively running. In George Street and Pitt Street patrols of mounted police were stationed, and the ordinary police were drawn up on guard outside the most important places. But the military had not been called out. On the whole, the police took as little notice as possible of the foot-passengers who were hurrying away home, but occasionally they held up a taxi-cab. Jaz, Jack and Somers proceeded on foot, very quickly and in absolute silence. They were not much afraid of the city authorities: perhaps not so much afraid as were the authorities themselves. But they all instinctively felt it best to keep quiet and unnoticed. It was nearly one o’clock when they reached Wyewurk. Victoria had gone to bed. She called when she heard the men enter. Evidently she knew nothing of the row. “Only me and Jaz and Mr Somers,” called Jack. “Don’t you stir.” “Of course I must,” she cried brightly. “Don’t you move,” thundered Jack, and she relapsed into silence. She knew, when he had one of his hell-moods on him, it was best to leave him absolutely alone. The men drank a little whiskey, then sat silent for some time. At last Jaz had the energy to say they must go to bed. “Trot off, Jazzy,” said Jack. “Go to bee-by, boys.” “That’s what I’m doing,” said Jaz, as he retired. He was sleeping the night at Wyewurk, his own home being across the harbour. Somers still sat inert, with his unfinished glass of whiskey, though Jaz said to him pertinently: “Aren’t you retiring, Mr Somers?” “Yes,” he answered, but didn’t move. The two were left in silence: only the little clock ticking away. Everything quite still. Suddenly Jack rose and looked at his face in the mirror. “Nicked a bit out of my chin, seemingly. It was that little bomb that did that. Dirty little swine, to throw a bomb. But it hadn’t much kick in it.” He turned round to Somers, and the strangest grin in the world was on his face, all the lines curved upwards.