A marked man among the conspirators, who had hitherto eluded all endeavours to arrest him, was one Tynan, known among the fraternity as “Number One,” a rebel who, it was believed, would hesitate at no crime. It was a time of anxiety which, as after events, such as the attempts to blow up the Tower, London Bridge and the House of Commons, proved was not without justification, and I was in daily communication with Sir Edmund Henderson, the Chief Commissioner of Police. He was a delightful man to do business with, so wise, so cool and imperturbable—a man who inspired confidence. He had, moreover, a rare sense of fun and humour. In spite of Fenian activities the opening of the new Law Courts was held to be a national and historic occasion of such importance that it was fitting that the opening ceremony should be performed by the Queen. Her Majesty, who might well have felt a little nervous, was not the sort of person to shirk a duty on account of danger. She had the gift of indomitable courage and did not hesitate for a moment. Naturally every precaution was taken. On the evening before the opening I was sent, with a strong force of police, the clerk of the works and two or three trusty workmen to go over the whole building and see that there was no person and nothing dangerous concealed anywhere. We searched the place from cellar to roof, leaving a policeman at every door; immediately under the spot where the Queen was to stand we found a mysterious and most suspicious box: there was some alarm and there were some blank faces, but the clerk of the works came up and the guilty-looking box was able to prove its innocence; it contained nothing but a few broken ornamental tiles which the workmen had forgotten to take away. After the examination of the building my orders were to go to the _Times_ office and draw up a memorandum stating what had been done, the Government knowing that there was much uneasiness which it would be well to allay. It was a splendid ceremonial and the whole affair passed off prosperously, though I may say in passing that there was one feeling of deep regret among all who knew him, that Mr. Street, the architect, a man of perfect distinction, had died the previous year. Had he lived he would undoubtedly have received the honour of knighthood in the great hall which his genius had designed. The Queen’s presence on the occasion bore good fruit. Not only did it give an immense amount of pleasure to her people, but politically it was of great avail in calming anxiety.