the pores. You don't perspire
what you think you're perspiring, though you're doing it freely
enough. . . . Now, Otty--for my sake--if you don't mind!"

"Well then, Mr. Farrell," said I, "I'm ready to do this much for
you.--We'll find a taxi here and now for the Whips' Offices and take
their advice. Having taken it, I am willing to drive straight back
to your Committee Rooms with the Head Office's decision."

The man's nerves were anywhere. He clung to me for counsel--for mere
company--as he would have clung to anybody.

So we found a taxi and climbed in, all three.

But I did not reach the Whips' Office that day.

There was a hold-up as we neared the bridge, and we to came a dead
stop. I set it down to some ordinary block of traffic, and with a
touch of annoyance: for Farrell by this time was arguing himself out
as a victim of circumstances, and with a feebleness of sophistry that
tried the patience. I remember saying "The long and short of it is,
you've made a fool of yourself. . . . Why on earth can't this fellow
get a move on?"--As though he had heard me, just then the driver
slewed about and shot us back a queer half-humorous glance through
the glass screen.

Jimmy, lolling crossways on one of the little let-down seats with his
leg across the other, caught the glance, sprang up and thrust his
head out at the window.

"Hallo!" said he. "Suffragettes? Dog-fight? . . . Pretty good riot,
anyhow,"--and the next moment he was out on the roadway. I craned up
for a look through the screen, and stepped out in his wake.

Some thirty yards ahead of us, close by the gates of the South London
College, a dense crowd blocked the thoroughfare. It was a curiously
quiet crowd, but it swayed violently under some pressure in the
centre, and broke as we watched, letting through a small body of
police with half a dozen men and youths in firm custody.

My wits gave a leap, and my heart sank on the instant. I stepped to
the taxi door and commanded Farrell to tumble out.

"Here's more of your mess-work, unless I'm mistaken," said I.

"Mine?" He looked at me with a dazed face. "Mine?" he quavered.
"Oh, but what has happened? . . . There would seem to be some
conspiracy. . . ."

"Yes, you interfering ass. Out with you, quick! and we'll talk
later." I turned my shoulder on him as I handed the driver his fare.
"Now follow and keep close to me."

I stepped forward to meet the Sergeant in charge of the convoy.
H