It had been very well advertised, again a matter of skill, though mingled with luck. It was Beth Appleby who deserved praise for the advertising. She did not, indeed--no single person could--write all the preparatory notes and articles which appeared for weeks beforehand. She did not supply the papers with all the photographs they published. Other journalists, discovering and developing the popularity of the pageant, earned their guineas. But it was Beth who did the spade work and forced the pageant on the attention of editors who might otherwise not have noticed it. Her character sketch of James Hinton--"Valet and Artist"--attracted attention in a popular Sunday paper. A study of Mrs. Eames as an enthusiastic and successful reviver of the best features of mediæval village life, with its apt quotations from Blake's poems--"Dark, satanic mills" and "England's green and pleasant land"--won the sympathy and support of the intellectual neo-Catholics, a school of writers who still possess a great, though diminishing influence among the members of suburban literary societies. Her intimate account of Sir Evelyn's home life--"Studious research and patient pursuits of original sources"--was read, or at all events talked of, all over Oxford. It was she who circulated the first published photograph of the cave, several "camera portraits" of old Bunce, of the mentally deficient Whittle, and of Lord Colavon seated at the steering wheel of the Pallas Athene. Her success stimulated other photographers, and the press was flooded, though by no means sated, with snapshots of every person and place connected with the pageant. There was even, in one paper, a picture of Mr. Linker, standing, with a smile on his face, in front of the door of his shop in Morriton St. James. The results of all this care, thought and skill, were obvious early on the afternoon of the great day. People had talked to each other about Hailey Compton and wondered where it was. Newspapers found themselves obliged to publish road maps, often very inaccurate, to satisfy this desire for information. Motor-cars of every size and make converged on the stretch of down land above the cliffs, followed each other in a long procession along the road, and plunged, one after another, down the twisting lane. There were no accidents, because it was impossible for any car to break free from control and rush down the hill. When any brakes failed or any driver lost his nerve, his car merely bumped gently into the one in front. There was not room for it to gather dangerous speed before the collision and to produce disaster it would have had to push, not one or two but at least a hundred cars in front of it, a thing impossible for any single car to do.