e doors
of the pantechnicon were burst open and thrown back upon their hinges,
where they shivered as if trembling with fear. From the interior of
the van poured such a stream of humanity as Downing Street had never
before seen.

Following Bindle's lead the inspector had taken the precaution of
stepping aside; but Tippitt, unconscious that the van contained
anything more aggressive than carved-oak furniture, was in the direct
line of exit. At the moment the doors flew open he was in the act of
removing his coat and, with his arms entangled in its sleeves, sat
down with a suddenness that caused his teeth to rattle and his
cigarette to fall from his lower lip.

Synchronising with the opening of the doors of the pantechnicon was a
short, sharp blast of a police whistle. The effect was magical. Men
seemed to pour into Downing Street from everywhere: from the archway
leading to the Foreign Office, up the steps from Green Park, from
Whitehall and out of Numbers 110 and 111. Plain-clothes and uniformed
police seemed to spring up from everywhere; but no one took any notice
of the fall of Tippitt. All eyes were fixed upon the human avalanche
that was pouring from the inside of the pantechnicon. For once in its
existence the Metropolitan Police Force was rendered helpless with
astonishment. Women they had expected, women they were prepared for;
but the extraordinary flood of femininity that cascaded out of the van
absolutely staggered them.

There were short women and tall women, stout women and thin women,
young women and--well, women not so young. The one thing they had in
common was lamp-black. It was smeared upon their faces, streaked upon
their garments; it had circled their eyes, marked the lines of their
mouths, had collected round their nostrils. The heat inside the
pantechnicon had produced the necessary moisture upon the fair faces
and with this the lamp-black had formed an unholy alliance. Hats were
awry, hair was dishevelled, frocks were limp and bedraggled.

The cries of "Votes for Women" that had heralded the triumphant
outburst from the van froze upon their lips as the demonstrators
caught sight of one another. Each gazed at the others in mute
astonishment, whilst Tippitt, from his seat in the middle of the
roadway, stared, wondering in a stupid way whether what he saw was the
heat, or the five pints of ale he had consumed at Bindle's expense
during the morning.

The inspector looked at Bindle curiously, and