Then O’Rane, with mounting irritation as some queer sense warned him that a crowd was collecting, felt for my arm and led me away.
“We don’t want a scene,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, George: I wouldn’t have come if I’d thought for a moment. . . . Our excellent friendship the Bishop of Poplar is unintentionally at the bottom of this. You remember his saying something about my condemning innocent people to death if I stopped the money I’ve been giving him the last few years? Well, that’s been taken up by Griffiths’ gang. We’ve had sandwichmen patrolling The Sanctuary all this week: O’RANE’S SENTENCE OF DEATH or something of the kind. I didn’t care; I wasn’t going to be blackmailed. Then, to-day, one of the reporters at the door asked my name; and somebody in the crowd overheard it. A few idiots thought it would be amusing to shout ‘murderer’. . . . Where’s Sonia? It’s time we got back.”
As I led him to his wife, I observed that her cheeks were no longer flushed; she looked, indeed, unpleasantly scared, and her eyes were fixed on the avenue of loiterers between whom she must pass on her way home.
“We’ll drop you,” Barbara suggested, with a quick movement towards the car.
Sonia hurried gratefully to her side.
“Thanks, Babs, I’ll walk,” said O’Rane obstinately.
“Then I’ll walk with you,” I said. “This business is frightening your wife,” I added when we were alone. “Why don’t you tell the police to clear these sandwichmen away?”
“I really haven’t had time. This is going to be the worst winter of all, George; we must raise every penny we can.” His lip curled contemptuously at the booing which greeted us in Palace Yard. “I’m free to beg now; if people want to know what I’m doing myself, I can say I’m giving every last shilling I can spare and they must do the same. We’re all responsible for relieving this distress; it’s part of the war, and we must volunteer as freely as we volunteered in ’14. And, if that doesn’t bring the money, we must try other means. The smug, secure people were glad enough to have conscription of men. Their money’s less than a man’s life; we must have conscription of wealth if they won’t volunteer. If it amuses the people I’m working for to call me murderer . . . Will you come in?” he asked, as we reached The Sanctuary.
“I’m already overdue at my solicitors’,” I answered, though I made time to call at the Admiralty on my way to the City.
I thought that Philip Hornbeck, who amassed “intelligence” of all kinds, should have a first-hand account of this ugly little scene; and I wanted to hear his opinion of Griffiths. Though he promised to keep on eye open for the O’Ranes, he clearly considered the temper of the country less dangerous than in the big strikes after the war. The unemployed were numerous enough, but they were kept scattered; Griffiths had the ability and the will to make mischief, but he was disowned by the official labour-leaders.