Mr. Secretary winked and gave his head a twist on one side, as if he meant thereby to say: “You don’t catch me.” “It’s a pity,” continued Mr. Hardy, taking no notice, “that some men are always for rushing into extremities. Why don’t they try and redress their grievances, if they have any, in the legitimate way which you yourself propose—by petition?” It so happened that a couple of hours before, Mr. Secretary having been somewhat noisy and insubordinate, the Major had been obliged to rule him out of order and request his silence. The insult—for so he considered it—was rankling in him. “Because,” he replied, “we have amongst us two or three d—d conceited, stuck-up fools, who think they are going to ride over us. By God, they are mistaken though! They are the chaps who do all the mischief. Not that I’d say anything against them—no, notwithstanding I stand up against them.” “Do all the mischief—yes, you’ve just hit it. I do believe that if it were not for these fellows the others would be quiet enough.” The Secretary took a little more brandy and water. The sense of wrong within him was like an open wound, and the brandy inflamed it. He also began to think that it would not be a bad thing for him if he could seclude the Major, Caillaud, and Zachariah for a season. Zachariah in particular he mortally hated. “What some of these fine folks would like to do, you see, Mr. Hardy, is to persuade us poor devils to get up the row, while they _direct_ it. _Direct_ it, that’s their word; but we’re not going to be humbugged.” “Too wide awake, I should say.” “I should say so too. We are to be told off for the Bank of England, and they are to show it to us at the other end of Cheapside.” “Bank of England,” said Mr. Hardy, laughing; “that’s a joke. You might run your heads a long while against that before you get in. You don’t drink your brandy and water.” The Secretary took another gulp. “And he’s a military man—a military man—a military man.” He was getting rather stupid now, and repeated the phrase each of the three times with increasing unsteadiness, but also with increasing contempt. Mr. Hardy took our his watch. It was getting on towards midnight. “Good-bye; glad to see you all right,” and he turned to leave. There was a jingling of coin again, and when he had left Mr. Secretary took up the five sovereigns which had found their way to the table and put them in his pocket. His visitor picked his way downstairs. The constable was still pacing up and down Carter’s Rents, but again did not seem to observe him, and he walked meditatively to Jermyn Street. He was at his office by half-past nine, and his chief was only half-an-hour later.