The procession drew up outside the Ministry of Brains, and resolved itself into a meeting. It was addressed in a short and stirring speech from the Ministry steps by the president of the Stop It League, a fiery young man with a megaphone, who concluded his remarks with "Isn't it up to all who love freedom, all who hate tyranny, to lose no time, but to wreck the place where these things are done? That's what we're here to do to-night--to smash up this hotel and show the government what the men and women of England mean! Come on, boys!" Too late the watching policemen knew that this procession and this meeting meant business, and should be broken up. The Minister and Prideaux listened, from an open window, to the speaking outside. "Rendle," said Prideaux. "Scandalous mismanagement. What have the police been about? It's too late now to do much.... Do they know we are here, by the way? Probably not." "They shall," replied Chester, and stepped out on to the balcony. There was a hush, then a tremendous shout. "It's the Minister! By God, it's Nicky Chester, the man who's made all the trouble!" A voice rose above the rest. "Quiet! Silence! Let him speak. Let's hear what he's got to say for himself." Silence came, abruptly; the queer, awful, terrifying silence of a waiting crowd. Into it Chester's voice cut, sharp and incisive. "You fools. Get out of this and go home. Don't you know that you're heading for serious trouble--that you'll find yourselves in prison for this? Get out before it's too late. That's all I have to say." "That's all he's got to say," the crowd took it up like a refrain. "That's all he's got to say, after all the trouble he's made!" A suave, agreeable voice rose above the rest. "That is _not_ quite all he's got to say. There's something else. He's got to answer two plain questions. Number one: _Are you certificated for marriage, Mr. Chester, or have you got mental deficiency in your family?_" There was an instant's pause. Then the Minister, looking down from the balcony at the upturned faces, white in the cold moonlight, said, clearly, "I am not certificated for marriage, owing to the cause you mention." "Thank you," said the voice. "Have you all noted that, boys? The Minister of Brains is not certificated for marriage. He has deficiency in his family. Now, Mr. Chester, question number two, please. _Am I correct in stating that you--got--married--last--August?_" "You are quite correct, Mr. Jenkins." Chester heard beside him Prideaux's mutter--"Good God!" and then, below him, broke the roar of the crowd. "Come on, boys!" someone shouted. "Come on and wreck the blooming show, and nab the blooming showman before he slips off!" Men flung themselves up the steps and through the big doors, and surged up the stairs. "This," remarked Prideaux, "is going to be some mess. I'll go and get Rendle to see sense, if I can. He's leading them up the stairs, probably."