The alterations in the cuff facings were duly made by breakfast time. At nine o'clock Lord Lothersdale approved of the result. By nine-fifteen the corporal had been photographed in several attitudes--one of which now adorns the recruiting posters--and by nine-thirty the party was driving to the railway station, incidentally meeting a troop of Hussars on the march to Moors for purposes of the Appendix. "That is what I call business," said Mr. Bower, as they took their seats in the train at the last moment. "No time is lost in dealin' with Lord Lothersdale. I hope that you got to know all you wanted." "All," replied Mr. Sinnott. "We have evidently been misinformed, for the man I wanted is not there. If we'd made a fuss about it to Lord Lothersdale we should have been sorry. As it is, we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Bower, and we shan't forget it." * * * * * "The next business," said the Hon. Sec. at the Burglars' Club meeting that same evening, "is the payment by Mr. Drummond Eyre of his subscription for the next two years by the production of Lord Lothersdale's Report on the Army." "Here it is," said Eyre, producing a manuscript volume. A subdued murmur of applause ran round. The President took up the book and glanced at it. "This seems to be in order," he said, turning to the end. "Lothersdale signs----" He broke off suddenly. The door had opened without any warning, and a little sharp-featured individual entered, followed by half a dozen other men. "In the name of the King," said the first comer, "I arrest George Drummond Eyre for feloniously stealing, taking, and carrying away certain papers, namely a Report, the property of the Right Honourable Gilbert Brown, Baron Lothersdale, and I arrest all others present as accessories." Members rose to their feet, and simultaneously made a move towards the door, with the evident intention of resisting the intrusion. Mr. Marvell--for it was he--held up his hand warningly. "There are more men outside," he said. "Resistance is useless." "Where's your authority for all this?" demanded the Secretary. "Here, sir," said Marvell, pulling out a bundle of papers from a capacious pocket. "Here are the warrants. 'Mr. George Drummond Eyre,'" he called out, reading from the pile. "Here you are, sir. 'The Duke of Dorchester.' Here, your Grace. 'The Earl of Ribston.' Here, my lord. 'Mr. Hilton,' 'Major Anstruther,'" and so on through the list of members. "You will find these quite in order, I think. Now, gentlemen, if you please. I have concluded that you would prefer to ride. Thompson, fetch the hansoms round." "Stop!" called out Ribston. "What are you going to do with us?" "Take you to Vine Street Station." "Nonsense. We're not criminals."