They were in Trafalgar Square now, skirting the edge of a crowd of starving trades unionists, who were easing their feelings with a Republican demonstration. London never dared to sleep in those first nights of the peril. "I wonder," said the master, as they rode past, "will history blame me for that--thing--back there in the Mall?" His lips were quivering. "Will history make me the murderer?" "That depends," answered Lancaster, "on what history has to tell of the war that's coming. I wouldn't like to be your ghost if the thing's a failure." "And if it succeeds, Lancaster, will they make a picture of me among the conquerors, with Alexander, Semiramis, Tamerlane, the Mogul, Napoleon--riding through a lane of stark corpses, and millions and millions of the accusing dead?" "Wouldn't you rather be there than in a procession to the gallows?" "I'd rather have the gallows, Lancaster." The Strand was in darkness, and every theatre was closed. Here and there stood cars, derelict because the drivers had struck. The public houses had been closed by order. Only the churches were open, for although they could not be lighted, great congregations gathered in these nights, for rest and consolation. Indeed, for that relief, even delicate women and children were willing to leave their lightless, desolate homes, and face the risk of being robbed or murdered in the by-ways. The police patrolled in companies, while now and again came the tramp of marching men, volunteers or special constables, called out to confront some distant riot; but no man went abroad unarmed, and few women except under escort. There were not less than forty thousand criminals at large in London, furtive as yet, rather than violent, stealing enough food to prosper, while daily the desperation of the poor added to their numbers, and their leaders grew more powerful and more reckless. In silence Brand and Lancaster rode on, turning now and again to watch the aerial destroyer, which, beating to and fro in short slants, was evidently keeping watch on their movements. The moon caught her gleaming aeroplanes at every ratch. At any moment she might call out with a request for instructions. Perhaps some doubt restrained her lest these men were not Guardsmen, but fugitives despite their horses and their harness. But, however carefully she might have watched for the master of Lyonesse, however certain it might be that he would head for a rendezvous with the yacht, a mistake would endanger the new compact between Queen and Government. Her Majesty's gentlemen of the Guard could not be insulted with impunity. "Shall we gallop?" asked Lancaster. "No, slower if anything or they'll think we're running away."