“Impotent,” echoed the old gentleman. “By the way, you have not answered my question.”
“The object, sir, of my agitation is to force the projected reforms on public attention, and so to secure that most important of allies, an effective mob-backing. But let me add that once elected to Parliament I am prepared to stand by any Government, Tory or Radical, in supporting the cause of order. We contend that should the revolutionary socialists or the anarchists initiate a crusade in the streets, they must take the consequences of their temerity.”
“Well said,” observed the ex-commissioner. “I notice in this regard that some very disquieting rumours are afloat. Not only are many of the East and South London workers becoming dangerous, but these miscreants, the anarchists, are moving. You remember the fiendish massacre ten years back when Hartmann blew up the bridge?”
“Rather.”
“Well, the police have had information that this wretch is not dead after all. At the present moment he is believed to be in England stirring up more mischief.”
“The deuce he is!” cried the old gentleman. “I hope they will run him to earth.”
At this point our colloquy was broken off by Lena, who sailed gracefully through the crowd.
“I want you for a moment, Mr. Stanley. A friend of mine, Mrs. Gryffyn, is very anxious to make your acquaintance. She’s mad about land law reform and women’s suffrage.”
The old gentleman grinned and Mr. Northerton eyed me pityingly. There was no escape from the inquisitor. “Why on earth couldn’t you spare me this, Lena?” I whispered. “I want a talk with you all alone, not an hour with this virago.”
“Oh, it’s all right. I shall keep you company, and as she is going soon we shall be able to get into a quiet nook and have a long chat.”