All the angry gentlemen had abruptly sat down on the Museum steps except the nice one. He stood with his hands in his pockets just as though he was quite used to seeing great stone bulls and all sorts of small Babylonish objects float out into the Museum yard. But he sent a man to close the big iron gates. A journalist, who was just leaving the museum, spoke to Robert as he passed. “Theosophy, I suppose?” he said. “Is she Mrs Besant?” “_Yes_,” said Robert recklessly. The journalist passed through the gates just before they were shut. He rushed off to Fleet Street, and his paper got out a new edition within half an hour. MRS BESANT AND THEOSOPHY IMPERTINENT MIRACLE AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM. People saw it in fat, black letters on the boards carried by the sellers of newspapers. Some few people who had nothing better to do went down to the Museum on the tops of omnibuses. But by the time they got there there was nothing to be seen. For the Babylonian Queen had suddenly seen the closed gates, had felt the threat of them, and had said— “I wish we were in your house.” And, of course, instantly they were. The Psammead was furious. “Look here,” it said, “they’ll come after you, and they’ll find _me_. There’ll be a National Cage built for me at Westminster, and I shall have to work at politics. Why wouldn’t you leave the things in their places?” “What a temper you have, haven’t you?” said the Queen serenely. “I wish all the things were back in their places. Will _that_ do for you?” The Psammead swelled and shrank and spoke very angrily. “I can’t refuse to give your wishes,” it said, “but I can Bite. And I will if this goes on. Now then.” “Ah, don’t,” whispered Anthea close to its bristling ear; “it’s dreadful for us too. Don’t _you_ desert us. Perhaps she’ll wish herself at home again soon.” “Not she,” said the Psammead a little less crossly. “Take me to see your City,” said the Queen. The children looked at each other. “If we had some money we could take her about in a cab. People wouldn’t notice her so much then. But we haven’t.” “Sell this,” said the Queen, taking a ring from her finger. “They’d only think we’d stolen it,” said Cyril bitterly, “and put us in prison.” “All roads lead to prison with you, it seems,” said the Queen. “The learned gentleman!” said Anthea, and ran up to him with the ring in her hand. “Look here,” she said, “will you buy this for a pound?” “Oh!” he said in tones of joy and amazement, and took the ring into his hand. “It’s my very own,” said Anthea; “it was given to me to sell.” “I’ll lend you a pound,” said the learned gentleman, “with pleasure; and I’ll take care of the ring for you. Who did you say gave it to you?” “We call her,” said Anthea carefully, “the Queen of Babylon.” “Is it a game?” he asked hopefully. “It’ll be a pretty game if I don’t get the money to pay for cabs for her,” said Anthea. “I sometimes think,” he said slowly, “that I am becoming insane, or that—”