ve, with arms
folded, making no further effort, and the battle raged round him as the
water swirls around some steadfast rock. A posse of police from the back
fought their way steadily toward him, and charged up the heights of the
platform steps, only to be sent tumbling backward, as their leader was
hurled at them like a battering ram. Upon the top of the heap fell he,
surmounting the strata of policemen. But others clambered upon them,
escalading the platform. A moment more and Mortlake would have been
taken, after being well shaken. Then the miracle happened.

As when of old a reputable goddess _ex machina_ saw her favorite hero in
dire peril, straightway she drew down a cloud from the celestial stores
of Jupiter and enveloped her fondling in kindly night, so that his
adversary strove with the darkness, so did Crowl, the cunning cobbler,
the much-daring, essay to insure his friend's safety. He turned off the
gas at the meter.

An Arctic night--unpreceded by twilight--fell, and there dawned the
sabbath of the witches. The darkness could be felt--and it left blood
and bruises behind it. When the lights were turned on again, Mortlake
was gone. But several of the rioters were arrested, triumphantly.

And through all, and over all, the face of the dead man who had sought
to bring peace on earth, brooded.

* * * * *

Crowl sat meekly eating his supper of bread and cheese, with his head
bandaged, while Denzil Cantercot told him the story of how he had
rescued Tom Mortlake. He had been among the first to scale the height,
and had never budged from Tom's side or from the forefront of the battle
till he had seen him safely outside and into a by-street.

[Illustration: Crowl sat meekly eating his supper of bread and cheese.]

"I am so glad you saw that he got away safely," said Crowl, "I wasn't
quite sure he would."

"Yes; but I wish some cowardly fool hadn't turned off the gas. I like
men to see that they are beaten."

"But it seemed--easier," faltered Crowl.

"Easier!" echoed Denzil, taking a deep draught of bitter. "Really,
Peter, I'm sorry to find you always will take such low views. It may be
easier, but it's shabby. It shocks one's sense of the Beautiful."

Crowl ate his bread and cheese shame-facedly.

"But what was the use of breaking your head to save him?" said Mrs.
Crowl with an unconscious pun. "He must be caught."

"Ah, I don't see how the Useful does come in, now," sai