"Not a bit," said Bland. "In fact a court martial would be rather a scoop for me. I'm sure the public would want to know how it's run." "I shall feel greatly obliged to you," I said. "The fact is that a nephew of mine is going to be hanged as a spy. You said you were going to hang him, didn't you, Crossan?" "I think it likely, my lord," said Crossan. "Of course," I said, "he richly deserves it; and so far as my own personal feelings go I should be very glad if he were hanged. But, of course, he's my nephew and people might think I'd been unkind to him if I made no effort to save him. One must consider public opinion more or less. So if you could arrange to rescue him--" While I was speaking Clithering shambled into the room. He was wearing a suit of pyjamas not nearly big enough for him. The waiter who put him to bed was quite a small man. The pyjamas must have been his. He asked us to find his clothes for him, and said that he wanted to go to the post-office. "I must send a telegram to the Prime Minister," he said. "I must send it at once." Crossan eyed him very suspiciously. "It strikes me," said Bland, "that if you're caught sending telegrams to the Prime Minister you'll be hanged too." "They're just going to hang a nephew of mine," I explained, "for writing a letter to the Chancellor of the Exchequer. You can see for yourself that a telegram to the Prime Minister is much worse. I really think you'd better stay where you are." But Clithering was, unfortunately, in a mood of hysterical heroism. He said that he did not value his life, that lives were only given to men in order that they might lay them down, and that the noblest way of laying down a life was in the service of humanity. I could see that Crossan was getting more and more suspicious every minute. "It is in order to save the lives of others," he said, "that I want to send my telegram to the Prime Minister." Crossan actually scowled at Clithering. I expected that he would arrest him at once. There might have been, for all I knew, a Committee of Public Safety sitting in the Town Hall. I could imagine Crossan hauling the unfortunate Clithering before it on a charge of communicating with the Prime Minister. I could imagine Clithering, heroic to the last, waving his incriminating telegram in the faces of his judges. Bland saved the situation. "Come along, Colonel," he said. "Show me where that court martial of yours is sitting. Lord Kilmore will restrain this lunatic till we get back."