The sailor could still be seen supporting himself against the pedestal of the Lion's statue, the policeman appeared to be engaged upon a new crusade of note-taking. The small crowd was melting away, but the sinister face of the sarcastic man could be seen wreathed in a cynical smile of triumph.
The Writer whistled, and drawing the curtains close, turned up the electric light and anticipated the worst.
The Lord Mayor sank into the most comfortable chair he could select, and helped himself to a drink; he felt he needed one badly at that moment.
"What a dreadful and degrading scene," lamented Sir Simon. "Good gracious, if anybody had seen me who recognised me, I should never have heard the last of it."
The Writer lit a cigar thoughtfully, and passed the box to Sir Simon.
"I am afraid, Dad, we never shall hear the last of it," prophesied the
Writer gloomily.
"What do you mean?" inquired Sir Simon.
"Did you notice that man who spoke to me at the edge of the crowd, who had presumably seen the whole thing?"
"Of course not," replied Sir Simon; "how on earth could I notice anybody under such distressing circumstances? Who was he? what about him?"
"That was the famous Mr. Learnéd Bore."