“Oh, no! There was a queue stretching farther than I could see. He told me he was sure Mr. O’Rane wouldn’t refuse to help when he realized what these men had been through to bring their grievances before the government.” Sonia’s expression grew suddenly hard. “I told him we weren’t the government; and I should be very glad if he’d take his army to Hampstead and let me get to my taxi.” Before I had time to warn her against such trifling, I was called to the telephone and informed that O’Rane himself was in Fetter Lane and wished to see me at once. “Hullo? This is a private wire, isn’t it?,” he began. “Good! I came to see you on quite other business. Then one of your people came in with the latest news, and I felt I should have to borrow your eyes for the afternoon. I’m afraid Griffiths’ people are getting out of hand. There’s a certain amount of damage being done . . .” “Whereabouts?,” I interrupted. “In Hampstead. I’ve warned the police; and, of course, Hampstead is a big place; but I couldn’t help wondering if they’d taken it into their heads to loot my office. I’m afraid they won’t find more than about five pounds in the till; but there are a lot of young clerks there, and I don’t want them to have a scare. If you could pick me up here and come to inspect the field of battle . . .” “I’ll be with you as soon as I can get across London,” I answered. 6 As I hung up the receiver, I saw Barbara standing in the doorway. One hand gripped the moulding of the frame; the other was pressed to her side. I jumped up in sudden alarm and helped her to a chair, for her lips were moving without giving forth any sound. “Babs! Darling heart, what’s the matter?,” I asked. “That’s what I came to find out,” she answered with an effort that almost choked her. “George, you’re not going!” “Not till you’re all right,” I promised. “Are you feeling faint? I shall have to go out for a bit: a man who’s waiting to see me at the office . . .” “But you’re not going!,” she repeated frantically. “It’ll only be for an hour or so . . .” “It’ll be for all eternity! George, if you go, you won’t come back! Can’t you _feel_ it? I know when death’s at hand! Have I ever been wrong? Uncle Bertrand. Eric . . . Oh, before the war! Jack Summertown and the other boys in Jim’s last party! I know, I _know_! You think I’m mad . . .” “But, my dear, who’s going to kill me?,” I asked. “I’ve been in too many London fogs to fear them much; and, if you’re thinking of the hunger-marchers, I’m afraid the poor devils couldn’t do any mischief even if they wanted to. I made an appointment with a man . . .” “With David. You put him before me?” I was at a loss to think of anything that would calm her. “He is my best and oldest friend,” I said. “You always _have_ put him before me,” she cried. “My dear, you speak as if you were jealous! It’s absurd . . .” “I heard what you said to him.”