“The law must take its course--for the present, at all events. Of course, I shall communicate again with His Majesty, and with the Prime Minister.” “In that case I shall have to arrest his lordship as well as the others.” “It will be sufficient if you arrest Lord Alistair. You can give the others a chance to escape abroad.” The Chief Commissioner stood for a moment, playing awkwardly with his hat. “In cases of high treason,” he observed, in a low voice, “it is customary for the warrant to be signed by the Home Secretary.” The Home Secretary drew himself up. “Have you a warrant with you?” The necessary form was procured from the criminal branch of the Department, and James wrote his own name beneath that of his only brother, with a firm, unfaltering hand. The next hour was taken up by the Commissioner of Police in personally effecting the arrest of his distinguished prisoner, and by the Secretary of State in communicating with the head of the Government. The Duke went through the form of tendering his resignation, which was courteously declined. “I do not believe for a moment that His Majesty will reconsider his decision, nor should I advise it,” the old Prime Minister said sensibly. “You had better cancel the warrant at once. Give your brother a good fright and send him out of the country. Let us hope that this experience may sober him.” When James got back to the Home Office he found a note on his desk from the Chief Commissioner. “I have his lordship in the next room, but he is hardly in a fit condition to be questioned. Perhaps your Grace had better see him to-morrow.” The Duke rang his bell, and ordered his brother to be brought before him alone. Alistair came in, still wearing the evening dress in which he had dined with Mendes overnight, with his hair unbrushed and his eyes from an unreposeful sleep. His brother glanced at him with carefully concealed anxiety; for though he was scarcely aware of it himself, he was always a little afraid of Alistair. It was a relief to see that his brother was not apparently intoxicated: the reckless mood which James dreaded most had given place to one of depression. At such a moment Alistair might be spoken to seriously; he might even be reproved without the risk of unpleasant retorts. The prisoner, without going through any form of greeting to his brother, dropped into one of the great spreading leather-covered chairs which stood round the wall and waited for Trent to speak. “Is it any use asking you why you have done this?” Trent said, after regarding him in silence for some time. Alistair turned on him a lack-lustre eye. “If you are asking me as Secretary of State, perhaps not.” The Home Secretary fidgeted with the papers on the writing-table in front of him. It was a favourite trick of his when he was embarrassed. Indeed, he generally kept a pile of papers in front of him on purpose. A little consideration told him that it was not worth while to try to bluff Alistair.