As the car came to a standstill, Westerham and Mendip alighted quickly, and without hesitation pulled the little brass knob at No. 10. As they expected, the door was pulled open quickly, and the head, followed by the figure, of the Premier's official door-keeper appeared in the entry.
Westerham was first up the steps, with Mendip hard at his heels.
He pushed the man aside, and had slammed the door to in the twinkling of an eye. He thrust the man back into the deep, cane-hooded chair in which he was wont to sit and dream away his official hours, and had him gagged before he had time to cry out. Then, by means of the straps with which he had provided himself, he and Mendip securely lashed the man's feet together, tying his hands behind his back.
This work done, they paused and listened; but, in spite of the scuffle there had been, there was no sound of approaching footsteps, nor, indeed, any sign that they had been overheard.
Without a word, Westerham grasped the man by the shoulders, and Mendip took him by the heels; and so they carried him through the red-baize swing-doors which formed the entrance to the passage leading to the council chamber.
There, with no ceremony at all, they dropped him on the ground, and ran quickly down the corridor.
At the bottom of this there stood a door, which opened easily as Westerham turned the handle.
They then found themselves in a somewhat ellipse-shaped vestibule, which, as a matter of fact, was the outer lobby of the room where the Cabinet Council was being held.
That the door of the council chamber would be locked Westerham knew full well; but he had come prepared to overcome any difficulty of this kind.
Nevertheless, he turned the handle, only to find, as he had expected, that the key on the inner side had been turned.