And now comes the curious part of the story. The guard of honour outside the Courts was furnished by the Queen’s Westminster Volunteers. The next day, in Whitehall Place, I met Colonel Bushby, who commanded them. He was in a state of great agitation. He told me that he had just discovered, to his horror, that the centre file of the guard of honour was no other than Tynan, the famous Number One! It seems that the man had enlisted, bringing unexceptionable letters of recommendation, and had been an excellent recruit, nobody suspecting anything wrong. When it was known that the regiment was to furnish the guard of honour, he went to the orderly room where the Colonel and Adjutant were, and begged to be allowed to serve on it. They refused on the ground that he was not tall enough; however, he prayed so earnestly, saying that he was leaving England for good at once, and it would be such a pride to him in after days to think of this honour, that they were touched by the man’s enthusiasm and Colonel Bushby said, “Well, if we make you the centre file it won’t so much matter, so we will let you serve.” How the discovery was made I do not remember, but poor Bushby was on his way to Sir Edmund Henderson to make a clean breast of it. Meanwhile the man had disappeared, and I believe was not heard of again. It made me shudder to think what might easily have happened in spite of all precautions, had the man meant to do the evil thing of which he was supposed to be capable. Evidently the Devil was not so black as his portrait. Needless to say, the Queen was never told all this. On my arrival at the office that morning I found a charming little note from Mr. Gladstone—always so gracious—telling me that he had recommended me to the Queen for the honour of C.B.; also a note from Sir Henry Ponsonby, saying, “I think you deserve to be congratulated on yesterday’s proceedings. They were most successful and the Queen highly pleased.” When I went to Windsor to be invested, the Queen sent afterwards to desire me to write my name in her private book. I mention this because, by a curious coincidence, the name preceding mine was that of my old chief, Sir Harry Parkes.