oo good for him once,
though," remembered Tommy, with a touch of pride in her voice; "got half
a quid out of him that time. It did surprise him."

"No," communed Peter to himself aloud, "I don't honestly think there can
be any method, creditable or discreditable, that I haven't tried." Peter
flung the one-sided interview into the wastepaper-basket, and slipping
his notebook into his pocket, departed to drink tea with a lady novelist,
whose great desire, as stated in a postscript to her invitation, was to
avoid publicity, if possible.

Tommy, as soon as Peter's back was turned, fished it out again.

An hour later in the fog around St. James's Palace stood an Imp, clad in
patched trousers and a pepper-and-salt jacket turned up about the neck,
gazing with admiring eyes upon the sentry.

"Now, then, young seventeen-and-sixpence the soot," said the sentry,
"what do you want?"

"Makes you a bit anxious, don't it," suggested the Imp, "having a big pot
like him to look after?"

"Does get a bit on yer mind, if yer thinks about it," agreed the sentry.

"How do you find him to talk to, like?"

"Well," said the sentry, bringing his right leg into action for the
purpose of relieving his left, "ain't 'ad much to do with 'im myself, not
person'ly, as yet. Oh, 'e ain't a bad sort when yer know 'im."

"That's his shake-down, ain't it?" asked the Imp, "where the lights are."

"That's it," admitted sentry. "You ain't an Anarchist? Tell me if you
are."

"I'll let you know if I feel it coming on," the Imp assured him.

Had the sentry been a man of swift and penetrating observation--which he
wasn't--he might have asked the question in more serious a tone. For he
would have remarked that the Imp's black eyes were resting lovingly upon
a rain-water-pipe, giving to a skilful climber easy access to the terrace
underneath the Prince's windows.

"I would like to see him," said the Imp.

"Friend o' yours?" asked the sentry.

"Well, not exactly," admitted the Imp. "But there, you know, everybody's
talking about him down our street."

"Well, yer'll 'ave to be quick about it," said the sentry. "'E's off to-
night."

Tommy's face fell. "I thought it wasn't till Friday morning."

"Ah!" said the sentry, "that's what the papers say, is it?" The sentry's
voice took unconsciously the accent of those from whom no secret is hid.
"I'll tell yer what yer can do," continued the sentry, enjoying an
unaccustomed sense of importance.