O’Rane stood silent for a moment. Then he shook his head and turned to the door:
“I’m not going to let you in for this. You have . . . other responsibilities.”
“It’s as bad as that?”
“It may be. You’ve never seen a mob out of temper.” . . .
“If you’re right, I may see one to-day. I’m not going to let you go alone, Raney.”
“It’s . . . good of you; but I think you’re a fool.”
“Well, that’s as may be,” I answered. “Come on.”
4
As we hurried to the station, I told O’Rane that the approaches to Westminster had been barricaded earlier in the day and suggested that we should make for The Sanctuary by way of Waterloo and Lambeth. He nodded without speaking; and, after that, I left him undisturbed. I am not, I never have been, anything that could be called “a man of action”; I did not know whether we were hastening into the vortex of a revolution; and, if I had known, I should have had no idea what to do.
“I’m simply waiting for your orders,” I reminded him, as we struggled out of the lift.