laces. Before them, the red glow which hung over the city was
almost lurid; strange volumes of smoke were rising to the sky.

"Rioters," Selingman muttered.

Julia looked around with a little shiver. There were no trains running,
and a great many of the shops were closed. Some of the people lounging
about in the streets had the air of holiday makers. Little bands of men
were marching arm in arm, shouting. Occasionally one of them picked up
a stone and threw it through a shop window. They had not seen a
policeman for miles.

"It is the beginning of the end," Maraton said slowly. "The only pity
is that one must see it at all."

Julia pointed down the road.

"What is that?" she asked.

A long, grey-looking line was slowly unwinding itself into the level
road. It came into sight like a serpent. It reached as far as the eye
could see. From somewhere behind, they heard the sound of music.

"Soldiers," Maraton replied--"marching, too."

They moved the car over to the other side of the road. Presently a
mounted officer galloped on ahead and rode up to them.

"Your name and address, please?"

Maraton hesitated.

"Why do you ask for it?" he demanded.

"I am sorry to inform you that your car must be surrendered at once,"
was the reply. "I hope we shall not inconvenience you very much but
those are the general orders. Every motor car is to be commandeered.
Sorry for the lady. Give me your name and address, please, at once, the
cost price of your car, and how long it has been in your possession?"

Selingman gasped.

"Is the country at war?" he asked. "We have come from South Wales
to-day. We heard nothing en route."

"There are no newspapers being issued," the officer told them. "The
telegraph is abandoned to the Government, and also the telephone. Even
we have no idea what is happening. We are trying to run a few trains
through to the north but we have had a couple of hundred men killed
already. They are to start again the other side of Romford. In the
meantime, I am sorry, but I am bound to take possession of your car at
once."

"My name is Selingman."

The officer looked at him curiously.

"Are you Henry Selingman," he enquired--"I mean the fellow who has been
writing about Maraton?"

Selingman nodded.

"Then I am afraid I can't say I do feel so sorry to inconvenience you,"
the officer continued grimly. "Alight at once, if you please--all of
you."

"But how are we to get into London?" Selingman protes