w
minutes to allow the lamp-black to settle. He argued that if he puffed
it all in at once, it would in all probability choke the occupants.

By the time they turned from the King's Road into Ebury Street,
Bindle's task was accomplished--the lamp-black was exhausted.

"Victoria Station," he called out loudly to Tippitt. "Shan't be long
now, mate. Another shower a-comin', better cover up these bloomin'
'oles," and he drew the tarpaulin over the rest of the roof. "Let 'em
stoo a bit now," he muttered to himself. "That'll make 'em 'ot."

He had been conscious of suppressed coughing and sneezing from within,
which he detected by placing his ear near the holes in the roof.

Opposite the Houses of Parliament, a lady came up to Bindle and handed
him a key. "This is the key of the pantechnicon," she said loudly.
"You are not to undo it until you reach Number 110, Downing Street. Do
you understand?"

"Right-o!" remarked Bindle, "I got it."

"Now don't forget!" said the lady, and she disappeared swiftly in the
direction of Victoria Street.

"No, I ain't goin' to forget," murmured Bindle to himself, "an' I
shouldn't be surprised if there was others wot ain't goin' to forget
either."

He watched the lady who had given him the key well out of sight, then
slipping off the tail-board of the van he walked swiftly along
Whitehall.

A few yards south of Downing Street, an inspector of police was
meditatively contemplating the flow of traffic north and south.

Bindle went up to him. "Pretend that I'm askin' the way, sir. I'm most
likely bein' watched. I got a van wot's supposed to contain carved-oak
furniture for Mr. Llewellyn John, 110, Downing Street. I think it's
full o' suffragettes goin' to raid 'im. You get your men round there,
the van'll be up in two ticks. Now point as if you was showing me
Downing Street."

The inspector was a man of quick decision and, looking keenly at
Bindle, decided that he was to be trusted.

"Right!" he said, then extending an official arm, pointed out Downing
Street to Bindle. "Don't hurry," he added.

"Right-o!" said Bindle. "Joseph Bindle's my name. I'm a special,
Fulham district."

The inspector nodded, and Bindle turned back to the van. A moment
later the inspector strolled leisurely through the archway leading to
the Foreign Office.

"That's Downing Street on the left," shouted Bindle to Tippitt as he
came up, much to Tippitt's surprise. He was at a loss to account for
many thing