"Oh, did he?" remarked the policeman in a sepulchral voice. "Well, I hope he came by it honestly, that's all." "Oh, that old chap's all right, old tin-feet," retorted the once time Lady of the Drama. "I only think 'e's a bit balmy in his 'ead, that's all. So-long, I'm off 'ome!" "Balmy in his head, eh?" grumbled the policeman gruffly. "Ah, I thought there was a funny look about him; yes. Well, I had better follow him up, and see that he doesn't get up to no mischief of any sort." "I say, Dad," suggested the Writer, "you had better let me carry the wreath, whilst you lake off those robes; you know they attract a lot of attention, even at this time of night." "I am afraid they do," confessed the Mayor. "What a dreadful and degrading scene! That upsetting fragment of a pantomime enacted in the open air, too, which is only a specimen of the stuff I was compelled to listen to for so many years!" "She evidently regarded you as an old friend, and a patron of the theatre," laughed the Writer, "without in any way guessing your identity." "It was a terrible situation," groaned the Lord Mayor; "however shall I be able to tell Mum about such an incident when I arrive home?" The worthy Lord Mayor got no further either in his remarks or in removing his bright robes, for as they approached the position occupied by the Pleasant-Faced Lion, Sir Simon became aware of another figure standing menacingly in front of it. A short, thick-set man in a sailor's dress was holding his hands to his head, and regarding the Lion with his mouth and eyes wide open, whilst an expression of horrified wonder and astonishment appeared to have petrified his face into a sort of ghastly mask of perpetual astonishment. Whilst the sailor continued to stare and mutter, the Lion's eyes could be seen to shoot out the most brilliant green fires; they looked like the flashing of two wonderful green emeralds. The Lord Mayor quickened his pace almost to a run. "Look, look! what's the thing that man is flourishing about in his hand?" "It's a big sailor's knife," replied the Writer uneasily. "Quick, quick!" shouted the Lord Mayor, "he is going to do Lal some harm with it! Good heavens! he's swarmed up the pedestal and he is positively contemplating cutting Lal's eyes out. Stop, you villain," shouted the Lord Mayor, whilst he ran towards the spot. "Come down at once; how dare you touch that beautiful Lion's eyes!" Without so much as turning his head, and apparently heedless of any remarks addressed to him, the sailor continued to flourish his ugly-looking knife, shouting meanwhile in the Lion's face as he did so--