Rose flush of evening on the Abbey spires, cool bloom of dusk on that long range of palaces housing the departments of State, violet splendour of countless lamps, and Whitehall seething with traffic, so Brand saw Westminster on that last day of peace. Quiet in mind, a little tired, he strolled up Whitehall, taking the western pavement, touching his hat when men saluted him. He thought of Margaret, the Queen, and the memory of her face was very pleasant. He had just passed the narrow entry of Downing Street when he heard a sudden sharp fusillade of gunshots, and looking back noticed the instant gathering of a crowd. He went on very anxious at heart, thinking of Sydney. He was abreast of the old Admiralty porch when he heard behind him the clatter of a horse charging up the street at full gallop. He paused, turned, went out upon the causeway, and stood waiting full in the lamplight. The horse, coal black, came tearing down upon him, the rider, a gentleman of the Guard, his helmet and armour shining like Sirius, greeting him with a shout of recognition, waving something in the air, a package of documents, the Russian papers! The black horse reared to the bit, the rider sprang from the saddle. "Well met," he cried; "Mr. Brand, these are from Trooper Sydney. Take my horse, escape!" Brand took the package of papers, which reeked of blood. "Is he dead?" "Captured, sir, and Colonel Anderson shot. I'm going to join Lord Sydney!" "Tell me your name." "Browne." The trooper glanced towards the advancing police. "Mount, sir. Ride for your life!" Brand swung to the saddle. "Where's the Queen?" he asked. "At the Opera." The trooper snatched a white glove from his helmet. "Send this to our Lady." "Thank you," said Brand, "I'll tell her how you served." And so broke away at a gallop. The trooper, drawing his sword, turned upon the police, and delayed them with the formalities of his surrender. IX THE ROYAL PREROGATIVE If Brand knew that his formal attainder was pending in the Commons, he did not know that the Chancellor had ordered his summary arrest. The horse carried him to the Opera House, and from the portico he found his way up the main stairway into the foyer. There, at the ante-room of the royal box, an equerry was in attendance who conveyed his word to her Majesty. "A Queen's messenger desires audience, and sends this white glove as a token." Police officers had entered the box office below; Brand heard them on the stairs; and orders were shouted in the very foyer before the equerry returned. "For the Queen's sake," he begged, "be quick!" "Her Majesty will grant you audience." Brand dashed past him into the ante-room. "Now," he said, "guard that door."