Then he ran off at a great speed in the direction of the Central Way. At the southern end of the Central Way, nearly opposite to the general offices of the City, was an elegant building known as the band-house. Here dwelt the majority of the members of Carpentaria’s world-renowned orchestra. Some members, being married to women instead of married to their art, had permission to possess domestic hearths in London and the suburbs, but these were few. The edifice was a very large one, as it. had need to be. A peculiar feature of it was the rehearsal-room on the top floor, constructed, like the finest flats in New York, in such a manner as to be absolutely sound-proof. Carpentaria rang the electric bell at the portals of the band-house, and the portals were presently opened by a sleepy person whose duty it was to admit bandsmen returning after late leave. “Look ’ere,” said the porter, “this is a bit thick, this is. Do you know as the hour is exactly----” “Hold your tongue, you fool!” Carpentaria stopped him briefly, “and go and bring Mr. Bruno to me at once; it’s very important. Let’s have some light.” “I beg pardon, sir,” said the porter, astounded by this nocturnal apparition of the autocrat of the band. “Mr. Bruno is asleep, sir. He had two whiskies to make him sleep, and went to bed afore midnight, sir.” “I know he’s asleep. Do you suppose I thought he was standing on his head waiting for the dawn? Go and waken him--and quicker than that! Here, I’ll go with you.” The two men went upstairs together, and Mr. Bruno, principal trombone-player of the band, was soon sitting up in bed, awaking to the presence of his chief. “Bruno, my lad,” said Carpentaria, “give me your trombone.” “My trombone, sir?” “Yes,” said Carpentaria. “Mendelssohn once remarked that the trombone was an instrument too sacred to use often, but I think the supreme occasion has arrived for me to use it to-night.” “It’s there, in the corner, sir,” said Bruno, wondering vaguely what was this latest caprice of Carpentaria’s. Carpentaria rushed to the thing, took it out of its case, and put it to his mouth. “H’m!” he murmured, after he had sounded a note gently. “I can do it, I think. Listen, Bruno! The occasion is not only supreme; it is unique. You are to rouse all the men; you are to dress, and take your instruments; and you are to go out quietly and surround the bungalow of our honoured President, Mr. Josephus Ilam. You are to make no noise of any kind until you hear me give the first bars of a tune, either with my mouth or with this instrument. You are then to join in that tune.” “What tune, sir?” “You will hear.” “Where shall you be, sir?”