"Yewmorous dialogue," announced Coaldust to his neighbours, "between Cleopartrer's Needle and the Moniment!" But it was more than that,--it was deep calling to deep. Presently the explanation, or the joke, or whatever it was, came to an end, and the Inspector advanced threateningly upon the crowd. "Pass along, there, pass along!" he cried with a devastating sweep of his arm. He spoke with a Highland accent, and I realised yet once more the ubiquity of that great Mutual Benefit Society which has its headquarters north of the Tweed. The crowd politely receded about six inches, and through them, accompanied by Robin, the Inspector clove his way to the encampment, where Dicky, who seemed to be rapidly losing his head, was delivering a sort of recitative to every one in general, accompanied by the policeman on the whistle. What the Inspector said to his subordinate I do not know, but the net result was that in a very short time the former was escorting the entire party of excavators down the street, attended by a retinue of small boys (who were evidently determined to see if it was going to turn out a hanging matter); while the latter, to whom the clearing of the "house" had evidently been deputed, set about that task with a vigour and ferocity which plainly indicated a well-meaning and zealous mind tingling under an entirely undeserved official snub. * * * * * They told me all about it in the smoking-room that night. "The idea," began Dicky, "was----" "Whose idea was it?" I inquired sternly "It was all of our idea," replied my future relative by marriage lucidly. "But who worked it out?" I asked,--"the plot, the business, the 'props'? It was a most elaborate production." "Never you mind that, old man," said Dicky lightly. (But I saw that Robin was laboriously relighting his pipe and surrounding himself with an impenetrable cloud of smoke.) "Listen to the yarn. The idea was to stake out a claim in some fairly busy road and stay there for a given time--say, six o'clock till tea-time--and kid the passing citizens that we were duly authorised to get in the way and mess up the traffic generally. If we succeeded we were going to write to _The Times_ or some such paper and tell what we had done--anonymously, of course--just to show how necessary Champion's Bill is." "Have you written the letter?" "Yes." "I wouldn't send it if I were you." "Well, that's what Robin here has been saying." "Putrid rot if we don't!" remarked Gerald, who had by this time washed his face, but ought to have been in bed for all that. "We can't do it," said Robin. "For one thing, we have attracted quite enough public attention already,--it's bound to be in the papers anyhow, now, and that will probably give the Bill all the advertisement it needs,--and if we give the authorities any more clues our names may come out. For another thing, it wouldn't be fair to Hector MacPherson." "Who is he?"