Jane drew from its concealment in her dress a small piece of iron to which was attached a coloured streamer bearing certain words. She threw, with a strong movement of the left arm, because she was left-handed. She had practised throwing; throwing was one of her several specialties. The bit of iron, trailing its motto like a comet its tail, flew across space and plumped into the window with a pleasing crash and disappeared, having triumphed over uncounted police on the outskirts and a hundred and fifty stewards within. A roar from the interior of the hall supervened, and varied cries.
“Give me the meg,” said Jane gently.
The next instant she was shouting through the megaphone, an instrument which she had seriously studied:
“Votes for women. Why do you torture women? Votes for women. Why do you torture women?”
The uproar increased and subsided. A masterful voice resounded within the interior. Many people rushed out of the hall. And there was a great scurry of important and puzzled feet within a radius of a score of yards.
“I think I’ll try the next window,” said Jane, handing over the megaphone. “You shout while I throw.”
Audrey’s heart was violently beating. She took the megaphone and put it to her lips, but no sound would come. Then, as though it were breaking through an obstacle, the sound shot forth, and to Audrey it was a gigantic voice that functioned quite independently of her will. Tremendously excited by the noise, she bawled louder and still louder.
“I’ve missed,” said Jane calmly in her ear. “That’s enough, I think. Come along.”
“But they can’t possibly see us,” said Audrey, breathless, lowering the instrument.
“Come along, dear,” Jane Foley insisted.