But before he had uttered the first word of his confession, a sharp command rang out upon the night.
“Move on!” it said.
It was the voice of Lionel. And out of the mossy bank of the Nelson Column, the form of Lionel rose. Gypsy and Ginger nearly fell off the Lion.
“Move on!” said Lionel sternly.
“Where would you like to?” whispered Lionel.
“S-S-Sussex!” stammered Ginger.
“Get down orf that Lion!” thundered Lionel, and he shook his truncheon truculently at Gypsy and Ginger. “Can’t you see you’re obstructing traffic?” He cast an eye over the crowd of children and Moonshiners. “Get along ’ome,” he said to them briefly. “Move on!” he said to Gypsy and Ginger, still more briefly.
This time Gypsy and Ginger quite fell off the Lion. With Lionel at their backs they moved on. A way melted for them like magic through the serried ranks of the London Police. The Police made no protest. One of them had the matter well in hand; they heard from his lips the sacred formula which is the motor power of the Police and the Solar Systems.
“Move on!” said Lionel at punctuated intervals. “Move on! Move on!”