On the doorstep stood that Secretary of State who had given the dinner at which the Archbishop had been present. Behind him was the yelling mob.
'Your Eminence! This is an unexpected pleasure. The Archbishop, too! How delightful! The people seem in a curious frame of mind; our friend Braidwood is justified--already. It's a wonder I'm here alive. I am told that several persons have been killed in the crowd-- terrible! terrible! My own opinion is that we're threatened with the most serious riot which London has known in my time. Ah, dear sir!' He bowed to the Stranger. 'I need not ask if you are he to whom I desire to tender my sincerest salutations. There is that about you which tells me that I stand in the presence of no mean person. Unfortunately, I am so constituted as to be incapable of those more ardent feelings which are to the enthusiast his indispensable equipment. Therefore I am not of that material out of which they fashion devotees. Yet, since I cannot doubt that my trifling personal peculiarities are known to him who, as I am informed, knows all, I venture to trust that they will be regarded as extenuating circumstances should I ever stand in instant need of palliation.'
The Stranger was still.
The stones still rattled against the windows, smashed against the door. Again there came a knocking. The tumult had grown so great, the cries so threatening, that those within were trembling, hesitating what to do. When the Stranger moved towards the door, the Secretary of State prevented Him.
'Sir, I beg of you! I fear it is you they wish to see, with what purpose you may imagine from the noise which they are making. Permit me to answer the knocking. At the present moment I am of less public interest than you.'
He opened. There was an excited sergeant of police.
'The person who's in here must get away by the back somewhere at once; those are my orders. The people have found out that they can get to this house from the street behind; they're starting off to do it. We don't want murder done, and there will be murder if he doesn't take himself off pretty quick.'
'Is it so bad as that?'
'So bad as that? Look at them yourself. I never saw them in such a state. They're stark, staring mad. All the streets about are full of them; they're all the same. That man Walters and his friends have been working a lot of them into a frenzy; murder is what they mean. Then there's over a hundred been killed in front here, so I'm told-- poor wretches who came to be healed. The crowd will tear him to pieces if they get him. He must get away somehow over the walls at the back.'
'Over the walls at the back?'