Black August

Black August

by Dennis Wheatley

1

The Prophet of Disaster

The bright July sunshine gave the ultimate degree of brilliance to the many coloured flowers in the stationmaster's garden. From a field, not far away the sweet scent of clover drifted in through the windows of the waiting train, and in the drowsy heat the hum of insects came clearly to the man and girl seated in one of the third class compartments.

They were strangers and had not spoken, yet he had been very conscious of her presence ever since she had scrambled in, just as the train was leaving Cambridge.

For a time his paper had absorbed him. It seemed that the curtain had gone up on the last act of that drama entitled: 'The Tragedy of Isolation,' which the United States Government forced by the pressure of their less educated masses had produced in the middle 193O's.

From that time onwards America had been driven more and more in upon herself, while Europe rotted, racked and crumbled. Now, faced with critical internal troubles of their own, the States had finally closed the door upon the outside world by a sweeping embargo; prohibiting all further exports to bankrupt Europe which could no longer pay, even in promises; refusing entrance on any terms to all but their own nationals, and enforcing a rigid censorship on their news.

The girl was staring out of the window at a placid cow, which ambled down a lane beyond the station under the casual guidance of a ragged boy, who swished now and then at the hedgerows with his stick. As the young man glanced at her his quick blue eyes took in the headline of the paper lying at her side:

'FURTHER SABOTAGE BY POLES MORE GERMAN GARRISONS WITHDRAWN'

and his mind leapt back to the previous summer. With superb generalship, the veteran officers of the German army had carried out a classic campaign, subduing the whole of Poland in the short space of ten weeks while the French army looked on, biting their nails with fury yet impotent to help their allies, being themselves in the throes of that revolution which terminated the nine months' reign of the Fascist puppet king, Charles XI of France.

And now Poland was slowly driving out the conqueror compelling the Germans to concentrate their forces in the larger towns by interference with supplies, the destruction of waterworks, electric plant, railway lines and bridges.

'Where will it all end!' he speculated for the thousandth time; starvation rampant in every city in Europe millions of unemployed in every country eking out a miserable existence in so called Labour Armies on state rations; Balkan and Central European frontiers disintegrating from month to month, while scattered, ill equipped armies fought on broken fronts, for whom, or for what cause, they now scarcely knew; Ibn Saud's dynasty dominant in the near East, gobbling up the Mesopotamian kingdoms created by Britain after the first Great War, and, with the simple, clear cut faith of the Koran for guide, turning their backs contemptuously upon their protests of the Christian powers, now impotent to stay their Moslem ambitions.

France was rapidly becoming Communist; Germany in a desperate plight, her commerce at a standstill, and only kept from open Bolshevism by martial law.

England had kept out of the strife for the last ten years; the will of the people for once dominating the folly of the politicians, but creeping poverty was driving her horribly near the precipice, and if the United States could no longer help, another month might see her too in a state of anarchy.

Looking out upon the little wayside station and the country all about it flooded with sunshine, serene and peaceful, it seemed impossible yet he knew it to be true.

The clang of a couple of milk cans farther down the platform shattered the silence, a whistle blew, and the train an unhurried local chugged on in the direction of Ipswich.

Weary unto death with his thoughts of folly, bloodshed and disaster, the young man glanced again at the girl and caught her eye for a second. The thought that she might be willing to talk offered a most pleasing distraction. He pulled off his soft hat and flung it on the seat beside him, disclosing a crop of auburn hair; then he leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees and smiled at her:

'I see you've finished your paper am I being rude, or would it amuse you to talk for a bit?'

She regarded him steadily for a moment from beneath half lowered lids. He looked a nice young man blue eyed and slightly freckled; he wore a suit of brown plus fours, ancient but still retaining the cachet of a good tailor and his hands were well cared for.

'Why not?' she said lightly; 'being a lazy person I left it to the very last moment to get up this morning and forgot my book in the rush to catch the train, so you may fill the gap and entertain me if you like!'

'Splendid! My name's Kenyon Wensleadale what's yours? That is unless you'd rather remain anonymous?'

She shook her dark head: 'It is Ann Croome.'

'What a nice old fashioned name,' he said, 'and may I ask if Mistress Ann Croome often travels on this antiquated line?'

'No, only I've been staying with a friend in Cambridge one of the four year students at Girton, and I'm spending the rest of my holiday at Orford; the air buses were full, so I thought it would be quicker to come this way than via London.'

'It is too; though not much since they've fitted the main lines with the mono rail. Were you at Girton yourself?'

'Yes, came down last year I'm a full blown secretary now!'

'And how do you like it?'

'It's a bore sometimes, especially on the sunny days; but at least it means independence. The only other alternative is a life of good works on a microscopic allowance with an aged uncle at Orford; in fact, if my firm crashes I shall have no choice, and I'm afraid they may before long.'

'Things are pretty bad, aren't they?'

'Bad?' Ann's dark eyebrows lifted, wrinkling her broad forehead, 'they couldn't be much worse!'

'I don't know,' he said thoughtfully, 'I'm afraid they are going to be before we're very much older. This American business…"

'Oh, I'm sick to death of America! The whole of my young life the papers have been crammed with what America is going to do and what America hasn't done and what the jolly old Empire is going to do if America doesn't!'

'Yes, that's true. Still, this embargo is going to be the very devil; it looks like the last straw to me.'

'I don't know; if we took a leaf out of their book and stopped lending money to the bankrupt countries, things might improve a lot.'

'Ah, that's just the trouble. England isn't self supporting, and if we can't keep our trade with the outside world we’re done.'

'I wonder? Germany is sticking to her moratorium, and so is Spain. People are dying by the thousand every day in Central Europe! they can't buy bread, let alone the things we are making, and the Balkans are in such a mess that the papers say we have even refused to supply them with any more munitions to carry on their stupid war. So what is the good of all this commercial nonsense if there are no customers left who can pay for what they buy?'

'There is still the Empire the Argentine Scandinavia Belgium, Holland, Italy lots of places.'

She frowned. 'They say the Italian state ration just isn't enough to live on.'

'I know, but Mussolini laid the foundations of the new Italy so well that they will pull through somehow. He is one of the few who will survive when the history of this century comes to be written.'

'And Lenin.'

He laughed. 'Lenin, eh? you know, you don't look like a Bolshevik.'

'Don't I?' she smiled mischievously, 'and what do Bolsheviks look like? Are you one of those people who imagine that they all have straggly hair and dirty finger nails?'

’No not exactly ' he wavered, 'still…'

'Well, as it happens I'm a Marxist, and I think Lenin was a greater man than Mussolini.'

'Really?

'Yes, really,' she mocked: the set of her square chin with its little pointed centre showed an unusual obstinacy in her otherwise essentially feminine face.

Kenyon Wensleadale smoothed back his auburn hair and made a wry grimace. 'Anyhow, Lenin made a pretty hopeless mess,' he countered. 'Things were bad enough in Russia when they were running their last Five Year Plan, but since that broke down it has been absolute chaos.'

'Things would have been different if Lenin had lived.'

'I doubt it though they might have taken a turn for the better if the Counter revolution had come off two years ago.'

'Thanks.' Ann took a cigarette from the case he held out. 'I wonder what's happening there now.'

'When the Ogpu had butchered the remnant of the intelligentsia, they must have gone home to starve with the rest of the population, I imagine, and the whole country is gradually sinking back into a state of barbarism. The fact that their wireless stations have been silent for the last six months tells its own story.'

'I think that the way the capitalist countries strangled young Russia at its birth is tragic, but perhaps it would be best now if the Japs did take over the wreck.'

He shook his head impatiently ' Japan’s far too powerful already with the whole of the Pacific seaboard in her hands from Kamchatka to Malaya. The new Eastern Empire would be the biggest in the world if they were allowed to dominate Russia as well.'

Ann gave a sudden chuckle of laughter. 'Ha! ha! afraid of the old Yellow Peril bogey, eh?' With a little jerk she drew her feet up under her and leaned forward a small, challenging figure, framed in the corner of the compartment.

. 'Yes,' said Kenyon. But he was not thinking of the Yellow Peril he was studying her face. The broad forehead, the small straight nose, the rather wide mouth, tilted at the corners as if its owner constantly enjoyed the joke of life and her eyes, what colour were they not green or brown, but something of both in their dark background, necked over with a thousand tiny points of tawny light. They were very lovely eyes, and they were something more they were merry, laughing eyes.

She looked down suddenly, and the curve of her long dark lashes hid them for a moment as she went on. 'Well, who's going to stop the Japs? we can't anyway.'

'No, but it's pretty grim, isn't it? the whole thing I mean. The world seems to have gone stark, staring crazy. Ever since the end of the 1920's we've had nothing but crashes and revolutions and wars and dictatorships. God alone knows where it is all going to end.'

'International Socialism,' said Ann firmly, 'that's the only hope, but ever since I've been old enough to have any fun some sort of gloom has been hanging over the country. Half the people I know are living on somebody else because their firm has gone broke or their investments don't pay. I'm sick of the whole thing so for goodness' sake let's talk of something else.'

'Sorry,' he smiled, 'one gets so into the habit of speculating as to what sort of trouble is coming to us next! Do you live in Suffolk?'

'No, London got to because of my job.'

'Where abouts?'

' Gloucester Road.'

'That's South Kensington, isn't it?'

'Yes, it's very handy for the tubes and buses.'

'Have you got a fiat there?'

'A flat!' Ann's mouth twitched with amusement. 'Gracious, no! I couldn't afford it. Just a room, that's all.'

'In a hotel?'

'No, I loathe those beastly boarding houses. This is over a shop. There are five of us; a married couple, a journalist, another girl and myself. It is run by an ex service man whose wife left him the house. We all share a sitting room, and there's a communal kitchen on the top floor. It is a queer spot, but it is cheap and there are no restrictions, so it suits me. Where do you live?'

'With my father, in the West End.'

'And what do you do?'

'Well, I'm a Government servant of sorts, at least I hope to be in a few weeks' time if I get the job I'm after.'

'I wonder how you'll like being cooped up in an office all day? You don't look that sort of man.'

'Fortunately I shan't have to be a good part of my work will be in Suffolk. Do you come down to Orford often?'

She shook her dark curly head. 'No, only for holidays. You see, I like to dress as nicely as I can, and even that's not easy on my screw so it's Orford with Uncle Timothy or nothing!'

Kenyon smiled. He liked the candid way in which she told him about herself. 'What is Uncle Timothy like?' he inquired.

'A parson and pompous!' the golden eyes twinkled. 'He's not a bad old thing, really, but terribly wrapped up in the local gentry.'

'Do you see a lot of them?'

'No, and I don't want to!'

'Why the hate they're probably quite a nice crowd.'

'Oh, I've nothing against them, but I find my own friends more intelligent and more amusing besides the women try to patronise me, which I loathe.'

He laughed suddenly. 'The truth is you're an inverted snob!'

'Perhaps,' she agreed, with a quick lowering of her eyelids, the thick dark lashes spreading like fans on her cheeks; 'but they seem such a stupid, vapid lot yet because of their position they still run everything; so as I'm in inclined to be intolerant, it is wisest that I should keep away from their jamborees.'

Kenyon nodded. 'If you really are such a firebrand you’re probably right, but you mustn't blame poor old Uncle Timothy if he fusses over them a bit. After all, the landowners have meant bread and butter to the local parson in England for generations, so it is only part of his job.'

'Church and State hang together, eh?'

'Now that's quite enough of that,' he said promptly, 'or we'll be getting onto religion, and that's a thousand times worse than politics.'

'Are you er religious?' she asked with sudden serious ness.

'No, not noticeably so but I respect other people who are whatever their creed.'

'So do I,' her big eyes shone with merriment, 'if they leave me alone. As I earn my own living I consider that I'm entitled to my Sunday morning in bed!'

'How does that go in Gloucester Road?'

'Perfectly as we all have to make our own beds! that, to my mind, is one of the beauties of the place.'

'What making your own bed?'

'Idiot! of course not, but being able to stop in it without any fuss and nonsense.'

'Yes,' he said thoughtfully, 'you're right there rich people miss a lot of fun, they have to get up because of the servants!'

The train rumbled to a halt in the little wayside station of Elms well. The carriage door was flung open, and a queer, unusual figure stumbled in. Kenyon drew up his long legs with a barely concealed frown, but he caught the suggestion of a wink from Ann and looked again at the newcomer.

He was very short, very bony, his skinny legs protruded comically from a pair of khaki shorts and ended in a pair of enormous untanned leather boots. He carried the usual hiker's pack and staff, and a small, well thumbed book which he proceeded at once to read. The close print and limp black leather binding of the book suggested some religious manual. Its owner was of uncertain age, his face pink and hairless, his head completely bald except for a short fringe of ginger curls above his ears.

As the train moved on again Kenyon turned back to Ann. 'What were we talking about? getting up in the morning, wasn't it?'

'Yes, and how rottenly the world is organised!'

'I know, it's absurd to think that half the nicest people in it have to slave away at some beastly job for the best years of their lives when they might be enjoying themselves in so many lovely places.'

'Would you do that if you had lots of money?'

I might

'Then I think you would be wrong.' The tawny eyes were very earnest. 'I'd love it for a holiday, but everybody ought to work at some job or another, and if the rich people spent less of their time lazing about and gave more thought to the welfare of their countries the world might not be in such a ghastly state.'

'Lots of them do work,' he protested, 'what about the fellows who go into the Diplomatic sit on Commissions enter Parliament, and all that sort of thing?'

'Parliament!' Ann gurgled with laughter. 'You don't seriously believe in that antiquated collection of fools and opportunists, do you?'

'Well, as a matter of fact I do. A few wrong 'uns may get in here and there, but it is only the United British Party which is holding the country together. If it hadn't been for them we should have gone under in the last crisis.

'United British Claptrap!' she retorted hotly, 'the same old gang under a new name that's all.'

'Well, you've got to have leaders of experience, and there are plenty of young men in the party.'

'Yes, but the wrong kind of young man. Look at this Marquis of Fane who's standing in the by election for mid Suffolk.'

'Lord Fane? yes, well, what about him?'

'Well, what can a Duke's son know about imports and taxation? Huntin' and shootin' and gels with an “e” and gof without an “i” are about the extent of his experience I should think. It is criminal that he should be allowed to stand; Suffolk is so hide bound that he'll probably get in and keep out a better man.'

Kenyon grinned at the flushed face on the opposite side of the carriage, and noted consciously how a tiny mole on her left cheek acted as a natural beauty spot. It was amusing to hear this pocket Venus getting worked up about anything so dull as politics. She had imbibed it at Girton, he supposed. 'You think this Red chap, Smithers, is a better man than Fane then?' he asked.

'Probably at least he is in earnest and has the good of the country at heart.'

'I doubt it. Much more likely he is out for Ј400 a year as an M.P. It's quite a decent income for a chap like that, you know.'

'Nonsense that's just a little childish mud slinging, and you know it. Anyhow, things will never get any better as long as these hoary old conference mongers cling to office.'

'Yes, I agree with you there, and that's probably what Fane and all the younger men think too but nobody can just become a Cabinet Minister they've got to get elected and work their way up.'

'Oh, that sort of pampered imbecile will arrive all right,' she prophesied grimly. 'Hell get an under secretary ship by the time he's bald and there he'll stick.'

For a second he felt inclined to laugh at her bitter antagonism to the existing order, but it was growing upon him every moment what an unusual little person she was. Not merely pretty as he had thought at first although her eyes would have made any man look at her a second time; but with her dark curling hair, clear healthy complexion and firm little chin, she was virtually a beauty. Not striking perhaps, because she was so short, but her figure was perfectly proportioned and her ankles were a joy yet above all it was her quick vitality, the bubbling mirth which gave place so quickly to sober earnestness, that intrigued him so much.

'Well, you may be right about Fane,' he said after a moment, 'but the United British Party is the one hope we have of staving off Revolution. It stands for everybody who has a stake either by inheritance or personal gain in this England our ancestors have made for us; and that applies to the tobacconist with the little shop, or the girl who has fifty quid in the bank, every bit as much as these titled people you seem to think so effete. The Party is fighting for the continuance of law and order here at home while the world is cracking up all around, and that is why I think a girl like yourself should put aside your theories for the moment and use any influence you've got at Orford to help Fane win this election.'

'There will be no election!' came a sudden harsh interruption from the far end of the carriage.

They turned to stare in amazement at the small, bony man. His pale eyes glittered strangely in his pink, hairless face as he glared at them.

'The time is come,' he cried in accents of fierce denunciation. 'The money changers shall be cast out of the Temple the wine bibbers shall be choked with their excess the women shall die filthily in the chambers of their whoredom. Those who have read the wisdom of the Pyramid shall see the light. Praise be to the builder for he was the architect of the Universe; but few shall survive, for the third Era of Azekel is at hand. As the great middle Empire of the Egyptians went down into Choas as Rome fell before the hordes of the Barbarian so shall the strength be sapped from the loins of the people in this day. The Moon of Evil cometh with the openings of the month and that which is written in the stone must be accomplished in human blood. Man shall be chastened yet again for his ungodliness. Nation shall war against Nation Brother against Brother and the Strongest shall go down into the Pit.'

He ceased as abruptly as he had began and, apparently oblivious of their startled stare, reverted to the contemplation of his little book.

Further conversation seemed impossible in such circumstances and after a quick exchange of significant glances, Ann and Kenyon fell silent until the great block of indro steel dwellings, which had recently sprung up outside Ipswich, came into sight. Then he leaned towards her again:

'Will there be anyone to meet you?'

'Yes,' she replied softly. 'Uncle Timothy, I expect, with the slug on wheels.'

'With what?'

She smiled. 'His ancient car I mean.'

'I see, well can I help you with your luggage or anything?'

'No, I've only got one suitcase but it is nice of you to ask.'

'Not a bit but look here. There's one thing I would like to know.'

'Yes?'

'What is the number of the house in Gloucester Road?

'Why?' she hesitated for a moment, 'do you mean that you want to see me again?'

'Of course may I?' His blue eyes were very friendly. 'How soon will you be back in London?'

'On the thirtieth.'

'All right if I drop you a line will you dine with me one night?'

'I don't know,' she spoke doubtfully, and a little wistfully, he thought, 'you see, in some way that I can't explain you are rather different to most young men that I know so I might!'

'Tell me the number then.

'Two seven two,' said Ann, but he only just caught her words for as the train pulled into the station the strange man closed his book and burst into speech once more.

'By numbers did the Architect build, and by numbers he shall destroy. The third Era of Azekel is at hand, and with the coming of the New Moon his reign of destruction shall begin. That which is written in the stone must be accomplished, and man chastened yet again for his ungodliness.'

As Kenyon pulled Ann's suitcase from the rack some queer superstitious current in her mind compelled her realisation of the fact that the new moon was due two days after her return to London. Two days, in which she might have seen this tall, auburn haired, blue eyed man again… Would life hold a new interest for her by the coining of the August moon?

They had hardly stepped down on to the platform when

a newspaper placard caught their eyes:

'FIRST RESULT OF THE AMERICAN EMBARGO GOVERNMENT TO RATION VITAL SUPPLIES'

With a little nod of farewell to Kenyon, Ann turned to wave a greeting to the scraggy necked clergyman who was hurrying through the crowd towards her. Yet even as they moved apart both had caught the tones of a harsh voice in their rear crying out from the depths of the carriage.

'Nation shall war against Nation Brother against Brother and the Strongest shall go down into the Pit.'

2

The Tramp of Marching Men

Ann Croome lay back in the largest of the three arm chairs which, with a dilapidated settee, constituted the principal furniture in the sitting room of 272 Gloucester Road.

Opposite to her stood Mr. Rudd, the landlord of this strange caravanserai. His yellowish hair was close cropped and bristling at the top of his head, but allowed to grow into a lock in front which he carefully trained in a well greased curve across his forehead. A small, fair moustache graced his upper lip, but as he always kept it neatly trimmed it failed to hide the fact that his teeth badly needed the attention of a dentist. His eyes were blue, quick, humorous and friendly.

'It's this way, Miss,' Mr. Rudd twirled a greasy cap in his hands the only headgear he had been known to use during his twelve years' tenancy in Gloucester Road. 'White's white, an' yeller's yeller if you take my meanin'. It wouldn't be fair to you an' the others ter take a Chink inter the 'ouse so Mrs. P. can say wot she likes abart 'is art an' all but the second floor front remains empty.'

Ann knew that Rudd's slender income was the shadowy balance between what he received from his tenants and the rent he paid for the house; and that he found it necessary in order to make both ends meet to act as storekeeper, loader, and occasional van man to Mr. Gibbon the grocer whose shop occupied the ground floor.

'It means a serious loss to you,' she said.

'Maybe, Miss but my old lady sez to me afore she died:' “Ted,” she sez, “seeing' this ain't egsactly a posh 'otel, it's recommendations wot counts so, if you're ever in any quandairy, think of the comforts of the lodgers wot ye've got, an' you'll be orlright.” '

'Well, personally, I'd much rather not have to share the sitting room with a Chinaman.'

'Now that's jus' wot I sez ter Mrs. P. “you're married wiv an 'usban' an' all, Mum but there's Miss Croome and Miss Girlie ter be thought of. Wot'll they feel like when their frens come ter see them wiv a Chink in the place?” tho' she took me up proper when I called 'im a Chink to 'er. But I'm scared now she may take the needle an' 'op it to another 'ouse.'

'Mr. and Mrs. Pomfret won't move because you've turned their yellow friend down,' Ann assured him; 'they're far too hard up.'

'That's so, Miss seven week 'e owes me for, an' not that I likes to discuss one person's business with another, but I don't get no credit with me rates. Still, 'is new book's comin' out on Friday 'e tells me so we'll soon be touching the spondulicks now.'

'It's a rotten time to bring out a new book.'

'Yes, business is that bad everywhere, it's a poser ter me 'ow any of 'em carries on at all. Did you 'ear about poor old Mr. Watney darn the street?'

'No do you mean at the dairy?'

'Yes put 'is 'ead in the gas oven 'e did 'im an' 'is missus as well!'

'How terrible!'

'Crool, wern't it? but as I said ter Mr. Gibbon “wot can you expect? an old chap 'oo's conscientious like, an' owin' all them bills!” 'e owed Mr. Gibbon close on forty pound. An' when you bin livin' respectable all yer life it ain’t nice to owe people money it 'urts but wot's a man to do if people won't pay 'im?'

'But you wouldn't take that way out yourself, would you?' Ann inquired. Rudd's views on life amused her, so she always encouraged him to talk.

'Wot, me? no fear, Miss!' his broad grin displayed the ill kept teeth. 'I'm an old soldier I am an' you know wot they say "Old Soldiers Never Die They Only Fades

Away," but that 'ud be a bit before your time I reckon. Lumme! come ter think of it, you couldn't 'ave bin born when we went an' put the Kibosh on the Kaiser yet it seems like only yesterday ter me.'

'Was it really so terrible as the war books make out?'

'Well,' he scratched his head thoughtfully, 'I don't know about no war books not bein' a great reader meself, but I used ter get the wind up proper when Jerry 'ad one of 'is special 'ates on, an' the little visiters used ter make yer itch somethin' crool. Still, the War 'ad its compensations as yer might say. The grub was a treat far better'n wot most people 'ad at 'ome an' if you could nobble a bottle or two of that vin rooge from the estaminay ter push around the Crown an' Anchor board in the billet of an evenin' the War weren't none so dusty!'

Ann laughed. 'It doesn't sound very romantic as you put it, but I expect you did all sorts of brave things as well.'

'Brave? me? not likely!' Mr. Rudd's kind blue eyes twinkled. 'I wouldn't never 'ave seen a Jerry if it 'adn't bin fer Mr. Sallust.'

'Mr. Sallust? Ann repeated with a puzzled note in her voice, as Rudd named the loose limbed journalist with the perpetual stoop, who occupied the big back room on the first floor.

'Why, yes, Miss 'e was my officer in the War, an' that's why 'e lives 'ere tho' 'e could well afford a better place. It's just 'is bein a bit Bohemian like, an me knowin' all 'is little ways. Now 'e was a reel tiger “Rudd,” 'e used ter say ter me when we was in the line “what abart makin' some little h'addition to h'our collection ter night?” “Very good, Mr. Sallust, sir,” I used ter say since seein' I was 'is servant I couldn't say nothin' else, but I knew what that meant orlright-​orlright. A couple of hours a crawlin' round in No Man's Land till 'e'd coshed an 'Un wiv 'is loaded crop an' took 'is pistol or binoculars orf 'im!'

Ann had always been interested in Gregory Sallust, although his caustic wit and avowed cynicism sometimes repelled her. Now she was trying to absorb this new view of him. But it was difficult to reconcile the lazy self indulgent man she knew with Rudd's picture.

'I suppose that is how he got his scar,' she remarked, thinking of the short white weal that ran from the outer corner of Sallust's left eyebrow up into his forehead.

'That's so, Miss, one of them little Gurkhas give 'im that, mistook 'im in the dark for an 'Un an' 'is langwidge! strewth! I thought they'd 'ear 'im in Berlin an' put Big Bertha on us before I got 'im 'ome.'

' Berlin!' Ann touched the evening paper with her foot, bringing the conversation abruptly to the latest news. 'Isn't it terrible about this fire. Nobody seems to know if it is organised by Poles or Jews but it seems to be breaking out in a fresh place every hour or so, and they say it has gutted thousands of houses and shops in the last two days.'

Rudd shook his yellow head. They've 'ad a shockin' time an' no mistake. But it's Glasgow as worries me! It ain't in the paper o' course but I 'ad it on the Q.T. from Mr. Sallust this mornin'. The troops was firin' on the crowd lars' night an' when it comes to that in this country…'

'If that is true it is utterly shameful!' Ann's eyes blazed with partisan indignation. 'The workers have every right to meet and voice their grievances when the Government is so hopelessly incompetent.'

'Ah, yes the workers, but if you'll pardon me, Miss this riff raff ain't the workers. It's all them youngsters wot never done an 'and's turn in their lives.'

'Well, is that their fault?'

'Yus why don't they volunteer for the National Army of Labour wot was started lars' year? I'd conscript the lot o' them if I 'ad my way. Not that I 'old with armies mind you, but a bit o' discipline is what them sort wants, an' one of those old walrus faced sergeant majors to tickle 'em up a bit.'

'How could we keep an army of five or six million men?'

'Weil, ain't we feedin' 'em all at the present time an' they still gets a dole that's bigger than the army pay so why shouldn't they do a bit o' work?'

Ann was saved from the necessity of replying by the sudden entrance of Mrs. Pomfret large bosomed, untidy, breathless and agitated as usual.

'My dear! Hildebrand? isn't he back?' she exclaimed, ignoring Rudd.

'I haven't seen him,' Ann replied, 'did you want him for something special?'

'No, oh! no,' Mrs. Pomfret sank on to the settee, 'but we promised to see Zumo Kriskovkin's drawings this evening, and dear Hildebrand he has no sense of time!'

Rudd shuffled his heavy boots uncomfortably. 'Well, if there's nothin' you're wantin' I'll be gettin' along, Miss?'

Mrs. Pomfret turned on him quickly. 'Mr. Rudd, I do hope you have reconsidered what I was saying about Mr. Choo Se Foo?'

'No, Mum,' Rudd backed swiftly towards the door, 'you won' take it unfriendly, Mum I 'ope but it's a rule of the 'ouse in a manner o' speakin'.'

'Oh, dear, oh, dear ' the large lady settled her skirt over her ample thighs, 'you are a most unreasonable man,' but a sharp click of the latch informed her that Rudd had made his escape and was now half way down to the insalubrious gloom of the basement where he dwelt in mystery and disorder. She turned on Ann.

'The prejudices of the working class are too absurd don't you agree? Mr. Choo Se Foo is the most charming man, and yet, just because he is Chinese, Rudd won't have him in the house. It would be a real distinction to have a genius like Choo Se Foo among us, but the masses have positively no appreciation of the arts. Sometimes it makes me wonder if it is worth while to go on.'

Ann had a quick mental picture of a small, smirking Oriental, cunning and insincere, deprecating his own presence with wearisome false modesty, and sneaking in and out like some large yellow cat. Living at such close quarters made one cautious of offending the other occupants of the house however, so with a show of interest she said:

'You know I'm afraid I'm terribly ignorant but just what does Mr. Choo Se Foo do?'

'Do my child! but there, once again we see the tragedy of souls pinned down to earth because they are compelled to earn their daily bread. How can you have time for the beauties of life, and for your work? Choo Se Foo is, perhaps, the greatest sculptor of our time.'

'Has he had any exhibitions of his work?' asked the practical minded Ann.

'Well, now, isn't it strange that you should ask that,' Mrs. Pomfret's false teeth showed in a wide smile. 'Only the other day I was saying that we simply must arrange an exhibition for him, but of course he is like a child, my dear so simple so unspoiled! Our hard, western commercialisation of beauty is quite beyond the understandings of his delicate mind.'

Ann felt an intense desire to giggle. She thought it highly probable that the Chinaman was a clever little rogue who made an excellent thing out of the enthusiasms of his arty crafty European friends; but she was saved the necessity for comment; Mrs. Pomfret had heaved her bulk off the settee and was dragging a heavy parcel from the corner of the room.

'My dear, I must show you,' she exclaimed fumbling with her small useless hands at the wrappings. 'He lent me this because I know a dealer really an unusually clever man for his class and I thought he might be interested. Look, my dear, his Infant Jesus don't you think it quite remarkable?'

Remarkable was the word Ann agreed as she gazed with astonished disgust at this monstrosity in stone. A large ball covered with every variety of human face, the expressions varying from benign to mercilessly sadistic; it stood upon two short, splay feet, and two puckered, feeble hands protruded from its upper surface.

'It is clever, I suppose,' Ann remarked doubtfully, once more forbearing to offend.

'Clever!' Mrs. Pomfret cried, her pale blue eyes bulging at Ann's lack of enthusiasm, 'but it is marvellous it has such atmosphere such rhythm! help me to lift it on to the bookcase, dear, I simply must keep it for just one day.'

'Rhythm!' thought Ann impatiently, 'what utter rot!' but she helped to lift the figure, and then curled up in her chair again while Mrs. Pomfret stood back to admire this product of a distorted mind, her small hand clasped in an ecstasy of adoration.

'It makes me feel… so… Oh! how hard it is to put one's emotions into words. I wonder if you understand.'

Ann did not care two kicks what the woman felt, but at that moment Mr. Pomfret limped into the room.

He was a tall, cadaverous person, moody and silent which his wife attributed to his great artistic gifts. Unfortunately the British public did not share her appreciation of Mr. Pomfret's genius, so although he had been writing for some twenty years it was a constant struggle for him to induce his publishers to renew their contracts and actually put into print those long dissertations upon the hesitations of the human soul which he evolved so labororiously.

'My love,' he said, smiling wanly at his Junoesque spouse.

'Hildebrand!' she swayed towards him they kissed.

To Ann, there was something incredibly grotesque about the performance; the fat, emotional woman in her too highly coloured clothes, the lank, disappointed man who, despite the August weather, still wore a thin dark overcoat which dangled far below his knees.

'Hildebrand my treasure, we must hurry!' exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret with a quick return to the practicalities of life.

'But where?' the man turned sad, dark eyes upon his wife.

'Zumo, my darling had you forgotten? and Chitter son Phlipper will be there, perhaps we can persuade him to take your article on the sex life of the cryptogam.'

'Ah, yes. Let's go then' He held the door open for her with the elaborate courtesy of an old fashioned actor, but her exit was momentarily impeded by the hurried entrance of Miss Griselda Girlie.

Griselda tossed a heavy satchel on to a nearby chair as the Pomfret’s left the room. She was studying for her medical degree, and still taking student courses through the long vacation. Striding over to the hideous plush covered mantelpiece, she looked quickly through the letters. 'Oh dear,' she sighed to Ann. 'He hasn't written he won't now, I don't think.'

Ann nodded sympathetically; she knew that Griselda had tasted one glorious evening of romance when a young traveller in medical implements had made love to her at a students' dance. For a few days Griselda had been almost beautiful but that was a fortnight ago, and now once more was bony plain. Ann felt that it was unkind to encourage her to hope. She knew that Griselda was desperately, tragically, anxious to be loved but how could any man in sober earnestness desire to caress that gaunt unprepossessing body, or kiss those pale bloodless lips.

'Perhaps it is just as well, dear,' she said softly, 'an affair would handicap you terribly in your work.'

'I'm sick of work,' Griselda threw herself angrily into the second best arm chair.

'That's because you've been doing too much,' Ann soothed her. 'Take a day or two off, and you'll feel better.'

Griselda shrugged despondently. 'Oh, what's the good, Ann why are we cursed with sex I wonder?'

'Who is cursed with sex?' asked a quick voice behind them. Gregory Sallust had entered unobserved.

'I am,' cried Griselda fiercely, to Ann's amazement.

He laughed, not unkindly. 'Blessed, you should say, my dear. Sex is the one great escape we have from the incredible dreariness of daily life. It only becomes a curse when you haven't the courage to get it out of your system in the normal way.'

'Shut up!' said Ann sharply. She was feeling acutely for the other girl, and wondered how Gregory could be so wantonly cruel.

'You're a medico,' he went on blandly, ignoring Ann. 'Be sensible then, put aside your stupid little suburban prejudices and make the young man happy. No harm could come to you, and it would probably cure your indigestion.'

'What a brute you are!' Griselda flung at him. 'As though any girl could go out into the street and offer herself to the first comer.'

Gregory ran his hand over his dark, smooth hair. 'Dear me, I thought you had a man in tow already but never mind, the other is just as good clinically!'

'How revolting! I couldn't!' gasped Griselda.

'Why not?' his voice was sharp imperious. The scar which lifted the outer corner of his left eyebrow gave his long, rather sallow face a queerly satanic look. 'There are a hundred thousand lonely men in London go out then, wait till some strong, healthy looking blighter tries to pick you up be coy if you like, but grab him. Then, once you get down to brass tacks, throw your inhibitions overboard; men always fall for that because it's rare in Anglo Saxon countries. He'll ask you to meet him again certain to, and when you do don't look at his Adam's apple, gaze into his eyes and tell him he's a new Sir Galahad! Then with any luck the poor fish will get all sentimental, and you will at least have secured someone to fend for you in the trouble that is coming to us all.'

'You filthy beast!' Griselda sprang to her feet, and rushed from the room in a futile endeavour to hide the tears which welled up in her small tired eyes.

'Gregory, you are a cad.' Ann flung a half smoked cigarette into the grate, and gave him an angry look beneath half closed lids.

He swung upon her quickly, his shoulders hunched, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets.

'Why? Don’t be silly, Ann. God knows who'd look at her, but some fool would. There are lonely men lots of them, and her one asset is that she's a young healthy woman, but of course she hasn't got the guts to do it. She's the stupid, inefficient sort who go under in every war and revolution.'

Ann's eyes fell before his glance. 'What is the latest, Gregory? are things getting very bad?'

' Glasgow is under Martial Law. The troops were compelled to fire on the rioters last night. There were seven killed and sixty wounded. In Hull, during the early hours of this morning, an organised raid was made on the principal banks; a number of police were injured, the safes were dynamited and the contents carried off in fast cars. It is said to be the work of international crooks who are taking advantage of the disturbances. In a village of the Merthyr valley an income tax collector was pulled out of bed at four in the morning, saturated in petrol, and then set on fire; he was burnt to death while the crowd cheered as if it had been Guy Fawkes' night. The crews on some of our biggest ships are giving trouble because it is the leave season, and all leave has been cancelled. Three pawn brokers Jews, of course were dragged from their shops and kicked to death in the East End this afternoon. Troops are being moved into the dock areas now, because they fear rioting here tonight.' Sallust paused, and then added cynically: 'Want any more of the gory details?'

She shivered slightly. 'No! it's all too horrible but do you really think the whole system is breaking up?'

'I don't think I know,' he laughed harshly, as he crushed out the butt of his cigarette. 'I've been watching events for months and it's only a question of days now. There is not a single strong man in the whole of the Government and this time next week the people will be fighting for food in every town in England.'

'What do you mean to do?' she asked him curiously.

'I,' he shrugged; 'oh, don't worry your little head about me. The traditional bad man of the party may get killed in the play, or in that poor boob Pomfret's novels but not in real life. Luckily, I'm not handicapped by any illusions or scruples, and so, my dear I shall come through; a little drunk perhaps on looted gin, but otherwise unscathed. The thing is what about you?'

'I… I hadn't realised that things were quite so desperate,' Ann confessed.

'Well, you'll survive you're too damned good looking for anyone to want to do you in. But you'll have to pay the price unless you slip off now. What about those people of yours in Suffolk? I should get out of it if I were you while the going's good.'

'Perhaps I ought to have stayed down there. A man I met the other day wrote and urged me to, but the letter only reached me just as I was leaving because it was forwarded from here.'

'Who is he? Anybody who's really in the know or just some chap who is anxious for his lovely's safety?'

'He's a civil servant, I think; he told me that he was after some post to do with the Government.'

'Then he probably had some good reason for his warning. Take his tip, Ann and mine. Quit the party… God! what's that?' Gregory Sallust had suddenly caught sight of the monstrosity on the bookcase.

'A masterpiece by Mrs. Pomfret's protégé Choo Se Foo,' Ann chuckled. 'The Infant Jesus, I believe.'

'How utterly blasphemous!'

'Dear me,' she mocked him. I thought you were an atheist.'

'He turned on her swiftly. 'Perhaps I am but Christ was a great man I hate to see Him mocked at by these filthy pseudo artists.'

A new sound came to them above the casual noises of the street. The rhythmic tramp… tramp… tramp of marching men. They both moved instinctively to the open window. As the head of the column came level, the door opened and Rudd joined them:

'Wonder where the boys are off to,' he remarked thoughtfully; 'we don't often see 'em darn this way.'

'They are en route for the East End, I expect,' Gregory told him, 'and they are probably taking the side streets in order to avoid comment as far as possible.'

It was a full battalion in war equipment. Steel helmets packs gas masks overcoats, bandoliers and rifles. Company after company swung by. The dust on their boots showed they had come in from the country and evidently their Colonel did not consider that they were far enough into the heart of London to call them to attention.

They marched at ease, their rifles slung or carried at the trail, many of them smoking, chewing sweets, or talking.

'They might give us a bit of a song,' said Rudd.

'That's just the trouble,' murmured Gregory Sallust, 'they are not singing and that's a damn bad sign.'

'Eat, Drink, and be Merry, for…'

The sound of marching feet died away in the distance, and they drew away from the window.

'I wonder whether Clarkson's is still open?' Gregory remarked as Rudd left them.

'Why?' asked Ann.

Want to get a fancy dress for the party,' he answered absently.

Her tawny eyes were filled with sudden mirth. 'How like you, Gregory, to go fiddling while Rome burns.'

'You, I suppose, prefer to pray?' he countered in quick derision.

'No, as a matter of fact I'm going out myself this evening.'

'Good for you “business as usual”, eh? and “Keep the home fires burning”. All the old gags will come out again you see!… Got a new boy friend?'

'I shouldn't be going out alone, should I?'

'No,' he eyed her critically, 'by some amazing stroke of good fortune for you the proportion of proteins, hormones and vitamins which make up your body vary slightly from the proportions allotted to Griselda owing to the result of the blend you don't have to. All the same, what I said to her goes for you too and, if you've got a man, you'll be doubly wise in these days to make it worth his while to stick to you.'

'Thanks, but the proportions vary in men as well, and so thank goodness they're not all like you. The decent kind don't need to have it made worth their while to stick to a woman if they're in love with her.'

He gave a sudden shout of laughter. 'God! what fun you are, Ann I love to see you get all romantic, I've a good mind to take you out myself one night!'

'If that's an invitation it comes a little late,' Ann smiled.

'Ah! well,' he shrugged his stooping shoulders, 'Fleet Street keeps me busy six nights out of seven, so work shall serve as an anodyne to my broken heart!'

'Idiot!' she laughed. 'You haven't got a heart.'

'No, perhaps I haven't, unless it's in my stomach. The ancients believed the stomach to be the seat of all emotions, you know and they were right about so many things. In any case it is time for me to feed it and then go forth to grasp the nettle of my nightly toil.' As he moved towards the door he flung a smile at her over his shoulder. 'Bye bye, little pansy face good hunting to you!'

For a time she sat alone in the lengthening shadows debating with herself the advisability of taking Gregory's advice and scuttling back to Orford the next day, but there was her job to be considered; supposing all this pessimism proved a false alarm? there had been isolated acts of violence and occasional rioting for the last eighteen months. If she once cleared out she could hardly expect her firm to take her back besides she was going to see Kenyon again that evening! And unless he proved disappointing at this second meeting, she somehow felt that she would not want to leave London for the present. Still undecided, she went up to dress.

An hour later, as she was being carried swiftly towards Charing Cross in the Underground, she wondered why Kenyon had asked her to meet him at nine o'clock. It seemed absurdly late to her yet his letter had clearly said dinner. She wondered, too, how he would be dressed tails or a dinner jacket. Most of the young men she knew could not afford two sets of evening clothes, and favoured the latter as more economical for their laundry bills. She assured herself that it did not matter two pence really, but as he had suggested the Savoy it meant dancing afterwards, and she preferred not to go to pretentious places unless her escort was properly dressed.

At Charing Cross she hopped into a taxi, since she had no intention of arriving at the Savoy on foot. As she walked through the lounge of the hotel she found that she had timed her arrival admirably, the clock showed two minutes past nine, and there at one of the small tables below the stairs Kenyon was waiting to greet her.

In one swift glance she saw that no woman could cavil at his appearance. White tie, and a double breasted waistcoat making a sharp line across his trousers top, his rebellious hair brushed smoothly back, and a flower in his buttonhole. 'Really,' thought Ann as she walked towards him, 'he looks terribly distinguished, almost as though he wore dress clothes every evening.'

He rose as she came up. 'My dear, you're looking ravishing; have a cocktail?'

'Thanks, I'd love one,' she smiled serenely as she settled herself in the chair he held for her.

So he thought her ravishing what fun and really, she had never felt better than she did tonight. How fortunate that she'd decided to blow the extra twenty five bob and have the prettier frock it had seemed a horrible extravagance at the time but now she had no regrets. Ann's face flushed to a delicate pink, her eyes bright with excitement as she raised her glass in response to him across the little table.

'Your friends the Communists are making a fine to do about the shooting in Glasgow,' he remarked with a grin, 'threatening all sorts of reprisals against the Government.'

Ann reddened; somehow her Socialistic theories seemed rather futile and childish in the atmosphere of this luxury hotel. It ought, she knew, to have strengthened her conviction in the rightness of her cause. But being honest with herself, she knew that she was enjoying every minute of it; so she shrugged her rather plump little shoulders under the flimsy frock, and smiled, 'Shall we give politics a miss this evening just pretend we're living in normal times I wish you would?'

'Why rather I'd love to. What about another cocktail?'

'Yes, er that is…" She hesitated a second, used as she was to practising consideration for young men's pockets. 'Don't think me rude but can you really afford this sort of thing?'

'You stupid child, of course I can,' he laughed, 'still it's sweet of you to think of it. Waiter two more Forlorn Hopes.'

Ten minutes later as he followed her down the broad, shallow stairs towards the restaurant, his thoughts were chaotic. What a skin she's got and those little dark curls on the nape of her neck… I'd love to kiss them… By jove I will, too. There's not a girl to touch her in this place… I'm thundering glad I wrote to her after all… but that was a little queer, thinking I might not have the price of a second cocktail. Damned decent though… and how refreshing!'

'How goes the job?' Ann inquired, after he had ordered what she considered to be an almost criminally expensive meal.

'I think it will be all right, but I shan't know for about a fortnight.'

'I do hope you get it; would they give you a decent screw to start with?'

'Oh, not too bad, about eight quid a week. Here's to it!' he added, lifting his glass; 'and long life and happiness to Mistress Ann Croome.'

'Thank you,' she smiled quickly as the bubbles of the champagne tickled her tongue. 'Well, eight pounds a week is nice, but not a fortune,' she was thinking, and if they were going to be friends she meant to teach him to be economical. It was terribly nice of him to give her such a marvellous evening, and perhaps it was excusable just this first time, but there must be no more dinners at places like the Savoy.

'Of course I get an allowance from my father,' he cut in, almost as if he had read her thoughts.

'I see,' she coloured slightly, 'and is he a civil servant too?'

'Well, hardly,' Kenyon's blue eyes shone with sudden humour, 'he's a farmer really although fortunately he has a few investments as well.'

'Investments are so uncertain these days, aren't they?'

'They are, indeed did you hear that Vibro Magnetic crashed this afternoon?'

'No! That means another slump in the city, I suppose?'

He nodded. 'Bound to, they're such a tremendous concern, and they'll bring down dozens of smaller people with them, so goodness knows how many more poor devils will be hammered on the Stock Exchange next settling day.'

'If things go on like this there won't be any Stock Exchange left.'

'Not unless the Government decide on a moratorium, they've been talking about it for the last week.'

'What effect will it have if they do?'

'No one will have to pay anyone else except for a new transaction.'

'I hope they do then it would give all the firms that are in difficulties a chance to carry on.'

’Perhaps but it almost means an end of credit. People wouldn't be able to get any more goods unless they were in a position to pay for them.'

'Well, it would keep my firm from going under I'm terrified every day that they'll close down and that I shall lose my job.'

'Ann,' he said gravely; 'why did you come back to London? delighted as I am to see you, I did write and warn you not to. There's going to be real trouble, here very soon.'

'I thought it terribly sweet of you to write as we'd only met just that once would you really like to know why I came back?'

'I would.'

She leaned a little forward across the table, a mischievous smile lurking in the depths of her golden flecked eyes.

'Then I'll tell you!… It was because I wanted to see you again!'

'Really! Do you mean that?' he bent eagerly towards her, stretching out one of his large, freckled hands to take hers, but she laughed and shook her curls.

'No, not really,' she mocked, then seeing the sudden look of disappointment that clouded his face, she added quickly: 'At least… I did want to see you again, but the principal reason was my job.'

He nodded to a waiter who held a roast Aylesbury duckling for his inspection, then he turned back to her: 'You hadn't quite forgotten all about me when you got my first letter?'

'No I'd thought about you quite a lot.'

'Had you?'

'Of course if I'd been anywhere but Orford I should never have given you a second thought but in a place like that there is so little to think about at all!' The dark fans of her lashes fell demurely on her cheeks.

'Ann! you're a perfect little beast!'

She glanced up swiftly. 'Have you only just discovered that? Most of my young men find me out at once… and they all find me disappointing when they get to know me better!'

'I don't believe a word you say!'

'Oh, I mean it ' she stuck her chin out challengingly. 'I'm selfish conceited of my looks, and I'm sullen when I don't get what I want so now you know!'

'Then it's quite time someone took you in hand,' he said firmly, 'and I'm applying for the job.'

Her eyes dropped beneath his steady gaze, but he was forced to look up as a tall, thin man paused by their table on his way out.

'Hullo, Akers?' he said with evident annoyance. But he did not introduce his friend to Ann.

' 'Lo, Kenyon,' said the tall man lazily. 'Government's taken special powers for a three months' moratorium just had it from the House and thought you'd like to know.'

'Have they? Well, perhaps it's a good thing on the whole. At least we shall know where we are in a day or two now.'

'Optimist!' grinned Akers.

'Pessimist!' countered Kenyon. 'Have they had any news from the States yet?'

Akers's pale blue eyes went suddenly blank. 'My dear boy how should I know?'

'Well you ought to, you're in the F.O.'

'Not my department,' Akers smiled blandly as he fingered his long moustache.

'Well, have they managed to check the fire raising in Berlin then?'

'Heaven Knows! but I shouldn't worry your young head make hay my dear boy, hay while the sun shines!' Ann could not see his face and without turning his head he swivelled his eyes in her direction.

'Good night,' said Kenyon pointedly.

'God bless you we shall all meet on the steps of the guillotine, I don't doubt.' With a dry chuckle Akers sauntered slowly away.

Kenyon looked after him thoughtfully. 'How like a Foreign Office man,' he said. 'Always ready to tell you everybody else's news, but never any of their own!'

'Is he really in the Foreign Office?'

'Yes, he's a first class civil servant.'

Like you will be one day?'

'Well, not exactly. He's, quite an important person I only hope to be a minor cog in the Government wheel.'

'I couldn't help overhearing what he said. Do you think his story about the moratorium is right?'

'Certain to be, the information of men like Akers is always reliable. Have some raspberries sorry there is no cream but it is this wretched rationing of dairy produce and butcher's meat.'

'No thanks Kenyon?'

'Yes,' he looked up quickly, it was the first time she had called him by his Christian name.

'He was only joking when he talked about the guillotine or its equivalent, wasn't he?'

'Why, of course there's nothing to worry about really.'

'But I am worried now. There was something about that man's horrible cynicism that brought things home to me as nothing else has done… and you see I live on my own, so if things get really bad…' She paused with the sudden realisation that she was doing exactly as Gregory Sallust had suggested appealing for the protection of a man she hardly knew. 'Oh, I suppose I'm being silly,' she finished awkwardly.

'No, I understand,' Kenyon hesitated, not wishing to go back on his own urgent warning of a few days before but longing to reassure her. He ended by adopting the latter course. 'Just look at all these people, Ann you can see that there is no immediate cause for alarm anyway.'

She glanced round the crowded restaurant. Not a single table seemed unoccupied, and yet the floor was already packed with dancers. Everybody was drinking champagne. Waiters hurried to and fro clutching two, three, four bottles or magnums in their strong fingers, whisking away the empties and plunging the new supply into the silver buckets which held the crackling ice. Above the soft music of the band came the unceasing murmur of the thousand guests. The shaded lights drew out the rainbow colours of the women's dresses, but hid their faces, kindly for the most part, in a softer light as they smiled and laughed, fingering the pearls that took life from the bare flesh of their bosoms and playing the eternal game of make believe with their respective men.

The whole scene breathed such an atmosphere of tranquil, prosperous solidity among the ruling caste that Ann was momentarily reassured. It seemed impossible that in one awful cataclysm they might be swept away. The band lilted slowly into an old fashioned Viennese waltz set to the new rhythm. She smiled across at Kenyon.

His thoughts had been very different. He knew that this seeming prosperity was an empty, tragic sham. Two thirds of these well dressed people were already on the verge of ruin, or bankrupts; striving to forget their crushing anxieties for a few hours by reckless expenditure and forced gaiety. If the crash really came they would be swept away like thistledown, the great hotel left empty deserted a prey to prowling thieves; those ragged outcasts who now slept fitfully on the hard seats of the Embankment would take possession of the soft beds in the rooms upstairs. What would happen if the rioters proved too much for the troops he wondered; supposing a gang of roughs burst in at this moment armed Communists what then? This crowd would stampede like any other. A few gallant fellows who put up a fight would be shot down the rest scramble wildly for the entrances and the women! he could almost hear them scream as they fled down the corridors, and the rip of the silk and the satin as the invaders clutched at their dresses in a brutal endeavour to grab their jewels.

Kenyon sipped his brandy and looked at Ann. She was smiling at him. Mechanically he smiled in return; then with an almost superhuman effort lest she should sense his forebodings, he cried: 'Come on let's dance!'

The floor was crowded, but somehow they managed to edge their way into the slowly revolving mass. Kenyon's height was an advantage, Ann's head barely came up to his chin, so to steer her was easy, and her weight was so slight that he could hardly feel it unless he pressed her to him. As he glanced down he caught a glimpse of the little mole on the curve of her left cheek, and the sight of it thrilled him curiously.

'Happy?' he asked almost curtly.

'Oh, need you ask!' came the swift reply, and she seemed to cling more closely to him.

'Ann?' he whispered a few moments later. She heard him even above the throb of the band, and turned her face up to his in quick response:

'Yes, Kenyon yes?' Her eyes seemed enormous, limpid yet sparkling in the reflected light.

For once Kenyon found himself tongue tied. 'Just… just Ann!' he breathed; 'just Ann!'

How long they danced Ann could never afterwards remember. She had a vague recollection of Kenyon ordering an ice for her and a brandy and soda for himself. They did not say anything particular, and in that swaying throng waltzes or one way walks made little difference only a glower or a faster time.

Quite suddenly it came to her that the great room was two thirds empty, and she was saying that she simply must go home. He settled his bill while she got her coat and then led her out into the street.

'I shall be all right,' she said as he helped her into a taxi, 'please don't bother to see me home.'

'Nonsense,' he laughed. 'Taxi 272 Gloucester Road,' and in a moment they were seated side by side speeding along the almost deserted Strand.

As he reached out and took her hand she made no pretence of trying to avoid the gesture, but let it rest for the remainder of the journey, warm between his own. Almost impossibly soon, it seemed to her, the cab stopped she was getting out, and Kenyon was paying off the man. 'But don't you want to take him on?' she heard herself saying.

'No, pick up another later.' He stood tall, purposeful looming above her in the semi darkness as she inserted her key in the lock.

'You can't come in, you know!' she said.

'Can't I?' he squeezed her arm. 'Don't be silly, Ann I want to carry away memories of the place where you live so that I can call up pictures of you in my mind. I know there's a sitting room you told me so. You trust me, don't you?'

Somehow his quiet, almost mocking assurance made a refusal seem stupid and childish. She turned the key and felt him behind her in the close darkness of the tiny hall.

'This way,' she whispered, stretching back one hand to guide him as they reached the landing and, with the other, softly opening the sitting room door.

In the faint light that penetrated through the half drawn curtains the arm chairs and settee were just visible as outlines of a deeper blackness. She put out her hand to press the electric switch, then hesitated, remembering suddenly the worn shoddiness of the room but Kenyon's fingers closed over hers and bore them swiftly downwards as he drew her to him.

Her arms stretched up and closed round his neck, drawing his face down to hers. Something outside her consciousness seemed to impel her movements. She closed her eyes, her heart hammering in her breast as her soft mouth melted into his; standing on tip toe, straining to him, she returned his breathless kisses with almost savage passion.

As in a dream she found herself lifted held in the air and then laid gently on the long settee. He was kneeling beside her, fondling her hands, and repeating over and over again, 'Ann Ann Ann.' Then his arms were tight about her once more.

How long they remained fast in each other's arms, while the silent night wended its way towards the dawn, Ann did not know or care. Her mouth was sore with the strain of repeated kissing yet his fevered lips seemed insatiable of her caresses.

With a sudden devastating unexpectedness the light was on Gregory Sallust stood, framed in the doorway, returned from his night's work. His paper was even now thundering from the presses, going North, South, East and West, to carry the news of the moratorium to the breakfast tables of the millions.

'Hullo!' he said. 'So sorry had no idea you were still up only came in for my nightcap won't be a second.' Then he walked over to the cupboard where he kept his whisky.

Ann noticed through a sort of haze that Kenyon was standing up with his back to the mantelpiece. His hair was rather ruffled, but he looked remarkably self possessed.

'It is I who should apologise,' he said. 'I've been rottenly ill ate something at supper that didn't agree with me I think. Anyhow, Miss Croome insisted that I should come in and lie down in the dark for a bit, and I'm feeling ever so much better now.'

'Oh?' Gregory nodded. To Ann's relief he showed no shadow of disbelief in this preposterous story; 'how rotten for you may I suggest that a whisky and soda wouldn't do you any harm buck you up a bit before you go home!'

'Thanks, that's nice of you.' Kenyon drew his tongue quickly across his burning lips, 'I could do with a drink!'

'Good, here we are say when.' Gregory squirted a siphon into an extra glass he had already filled a quarter full with whisky, and Kenyon picked it up. Ann stood there marvelling at their quiet, easy behaviour, as they talked casually of the moratorium for a moment. By some mysterious freemasonry they already seemed to be on the best of terms, although she had forgotten even to introduce them.

'Well, I must get along,' Kenyon set down his glass.

'You'll find a taxi at the end of the road,' said Gregory affably.

'Thanks thanks too for the drink. I'll give you a ring, Ann, if I may sorry to have been such a nuisance to you.'

Kenyon was standing by the door, but Ann felt that he might have been a thousand miles away. By the time she had reached the landing he was half way down the stairs.

'Don't bother to come down,' he called. 'I can easily let myself out.'

The front door banged while she was still upon the second step. 'He might have waited,' she thought, 'but of course the darling was trying to make it seem ordinary and natural. Anyhow Gregory couldn't have seen much!' She yawned, suddenly realising how tired she was and went back into the sitting room to fetch her coat.

Gregory stood there grinning like a fiend. 'Ann,' he said, 'Ann how could you be such a little idiot?'

'What do you mean?' she cried, her eyelids lowering angrily.

'I never meant you to go and overstep the mark like that!'

Misunderstanding his meaning completely she flushed scarlet. 'Thank you, Gregory, what I choose to do is entirely my own affair.'

'Of course,' he was serious now, 'but why in God's name pick on a man like that?'

'He's worth a thousand like you!' she snapped.

'Perhaps, but he won't be any earthly good to you if we all have to get out in a hurry and that's what it is coming to, you believe me!'

'Why?' Ann demanded truculently.

'Because he'll be too busy with his own crowd.'

'What exactly do you mean?' she said slowly.

'Well, you're a typist secretary aren't you?'

'What about it? He knows that.'

Gregory set down his glass with slow deliberation; his mouth hung slightly open. 'Does he? Well, do you seriously think he'll give a damn what happens to you when the crash comes? You've just been an excellent amusement for the evening that's all. A little quiet fun which will be forgotten in the morning. Surely you realise that, unless… Good God! perhaps you don't know who he is?'

'I do his name is Kenyon Wensleadale. I was telling you about him only this evening, and that he was getting some sort of Government job.' Ann shivered slightly, feeling for the first time the chill of the night air.

'Government job, eh? that's pretty rich.' He shook his head whimsically. 'You poor little fool, hadn't you the sense to realise that Wensleadale is the family name of the Dukes of Burminster? The young man is the candidate for mid Suffolk, Ann and he is known officially as my Lord the Marquis of Fane!'

Love, Cocktails, and the Shadow of Fear

'Darling! How divine of you to come!' Lady Veronica Wensleadale was stretched at full length on the comfortable sofa in her private sitting room. It was on the third floor of the Burminster house in Grosvenor Square, a friendly, well lit and exquisitely furnished room.

'My dear! I've been simply dying to see you.' Fiona Hetherington stretched out both her hands. She was Veronica's closest friend and from their greetings one might have imagined that they had met after a separation of months. Actually they had seen each other less than ten days before, exchanged letters, and held two long conversations on the telephone in the meantime.

'Sit down, my sweet, and tell me everything.' Veronica pulled the other girl down beside her. She was darker than her brother Kenyon, but a suggestion of red lit the almost black hair on her small and shapely head. As she lay back her slim body was half buried in the cushions and her pale oval face only just appeared above her knees. A thin spiral of smoke rose from a cigarette in her slender jade holder.

'I suppose you've heard all these ghastly rumours which are floating round,' Fiona said.

'Yes, too nauseating, my dear why don't they have their absurd revolution and get it over! but tell me about the Tweekenhams' dance?'

'It was an awful flop, half the people failed to turn up!'

'But, darling, they were completely loppy to give a party in August, anyhow.'

'I don't know,' Fiona remonstrated, 'as Parliament is still sitting everybody has stayed on in London this year, but even Peter tried to back out at the last moment said it was such damned bad taste with the King ill and everything but we had to go in the end, I couldn't let Angela down.'

'Poor Angela! she is a complete nit wit, but such a sweet. It was hellish to have to refuse her, but I couldn't get away from Holkenham until yesterday.'

Fiona pulled off her hat and shook back her fair hair. 'Was it amusing?'

'Grim, my dear grim.' Veronica cast her eyes up to the ceiling. 'The house was Strawberry Hill Gothic, not enough bathrooms, and a vast brown tiled hall real Neo Lavatorial!'

'How depressing. What were the Bronsons like?'

'Quite too terrible. Of course it's a bit of luck for Kenyon that he was at Magdalen with the son. Old Sir George is practically fighting the election for him, but the old woman was appalling. It is one of those ghastly places they keep up the prehistoric customs of the men sitting over their port, and as Juliana Augusta went up to bed early the first night the Bronson cornered me in the drawing room. She third degreed me about Juliana Augusta's little whims and she must have said “the dear Duchess” forty times in the hour. I think she thought that to say “Your Mother” would have been lese majeste.'

Fiona smiled. 'And what about the young man?'

'Oh, he was quite a nice little cad played a decent game of golf and made sheep's eyes at me of course, but the poor lamb was dragged off to do this filthy electioneering most of the time Hell's bells that's done it.' Veronica grabbed frantically at the end of her cigarette which had fallen from the holder into her lap. When she had succeeded in rescuing the glowing stub she surveyed her light summer frock angrily. Two large yellow burns showed right in the middle of it.

'Ruined, my dear ruined!' she exclaimed wildly in her rather high pitched voice. 'How absolutely too maddening and the rag's not even paid for!'

'Poor darling,' Fiona consoled her, 'but you can have it dyed, I've got quite used to that sort of thing since I married Peter.'

'I know, sweet you've been an absolute angel, but I just can't wear dyed clothes.'

'I do wish you'd be sensible. How you can keep on running up these awful bills, I can't think.'

'Madness, isn't it. Maria threatened to writ me last week!'

'Did she? My dear, if I were in your shoes I shouldn't be able to sleep a wink.'

'I don't, darling, at times I squirrel terrifically, but let's face it if you're not a beauty, clothes do count.'

'What nonsense you're lovely!'

Veronica tapped her high, arched nose. 'Good old mountain goat, lovie.'

'How absurd who wants stupid doll like prettiness anyhow. You've got the most shapely head I've ever seen, a figure like a sylph and the loveliest pair of legs in London. Besides you're the most amusing person in the word to talk to and the men adore that!'

'Oh, I can get away with murder among the males.'

'Well, what are you grumbling about then?'

'Clothes, dearie, clothes, an' 'ow ter pay me bills!'

'Must you have so many?'

'Yus All part of the gime, lovie.'

Fiona nodded. 'I don't blame you really because you've got such marvellous taste. I expect I should be the same if I looked so devastatingly chic. But can't you get papa to increase your allowance?'

'Not a hope, darling; Herbert is broke to the wide. I cornered the old boy at Holkenham after he'd been at Bronson's "96 port, but it wasn't any earthly use.'

'But he must have a pretty big income still.'

'He swears he hasn't a bob. It would be different if we could persuade him to close down Banners. That place positively eats money, but he won't. He says it is unfitting that he should add to the number of the unemployed.'

'It's a pity that some of these beastly Communists can't hear him!'

'Oh, it's not only that, my dear, he gets all Ducal too! “As long as there has been a Burminster, Banners has been the centre of life for three counties. The Monarch would be most displeased, I'm sure.” Then I hoot with laughter. You know what a little round fat man Herbert is, and he's just too comic for words when he starts to take himself seriously. No, darling I'm afraid it's got to be the Purple Monkey in the end!"

'You can't, Veronica.'

'Darling, why not? He's got a delicious wit, really artistic taste, and we could have a bedspread sewn with diamonds. What more does any girl want?'

'Someone to be really fond of don't you think?'

'What rippling rot, Fiona. Everybody gets divorced after two years these days.'

'Ugh!' Fiona gave a little shudder. 'Just to think of that blue chin pressed against my neck makes me sick and he's old enough to be your father you simply couldn't!'

Veronica leaned back and gave a shout of laughter. 'You pet! how gloriously serious you are!'

'I detest lecherous old men.'

'I don't they amuse me. Besides he's no age really forty five perhaps, but he looks more because he's dark and a foreigner. Anyhow I should trompee him and have dozens of handsome young lovers!'

'How's Alistair, as mad about you as ever?'

'Yes, poor lamb and I thank you, my love, Major Hay-​Symple is in excellent health. He was with us at Holkenham.'

'To help Kenyon with the campaign or to flirt with your ladyship?'

'Both! but my ladyship was rather unkind I fear. Holkenham is no place for parlour games. If we'd been rumbled by the Bronsons they'd have spread the most ghastly scandal about me in ten ticks. I simply didn't dare risk it, so Alistair had to console himself by punishing the port. He was a great success with the children though.'

Fiona looked puzzled. 'I didn't know there were any.'

'Oh, in the house? thank God, no! that would have been the last straw. I mean the young Britons. We made him tell them “What I did in the Great War, Daddie!” He simply hated it, of course, and he was only some sort of junior dogs body at the time, but he got crossed fig leaves or something for some act of idiocy he performed when he was tight as an owl they lapped it up! He had to leave us on Saturday though, he was recalled by telegram.'

'Yes, all leave has been cancelled. Peter says the Government have got the wind up to the eyebrows but about Alistair. Why don't you marry him, Veronica?'

'My sweet, you know perfectly well that he hasn't got a cent.'

'But he'll come into the place when his father dies.1

'Yes, when he's ninety and I've grown a lovely long dewlap, thank you, darling No!'

'Oh, Veronica, don't be absurd.'

'I mean it, lovie these 'ere surgeons is that 'andy wiv their h'instruments nowadays they keeps all the old crocks in the 'untin' field until they're h'octogenarians!'

'You'd be very happy with Alistair.'

Veronica stretched her slim arms above her head and smiled indulgently. 'You think of everybody in terms of Peter and yourself and, little sentimental fool that you are I adore you. But I always have been attracted by queer men and I shall always be liable to go off the rails with any new man who comes along if he's got brains and guts.'

'Well, you can't say that Alistair lacks guts, and he's got brains as well he's been through Staff College.'

'Yes, with a kick in the pants! as for guts, darling, he keeps them filed away in the War Office to be taken out when wanted, so they're not the kind I care about. Tell me, is Peter coming in to booze with us this evening?'

'Yes, about six I expect, it's nearly that now.'

'Marvellous I tried to get several chaps but they are all in their little uniforms playing at Special Constables, or busy joining Llewellyn's comic opera Greyshirts. Still, Alistair is coming in for half an hour and Kenyon will be in any moment so they'll be able to tell us all about Auld England on its last legs. I suppose you haven't seen an evening paper, have you?'

Fiona shook her head. 'No, but I believe that there's been awful trouble in the north. Dorothy you know, the girl who does my hair at Ernalde's, told me that Glasgow is completely cut off, and a railway bridge blown up so that no trains come through.'

'My dear! these filthy Communists.'

'Terrible, isn't it, but I suppose we shall pull through somehow we always seem to 1'

'Of course, darling. Everything would have been straightened out years ago if it hadn't been for those pompous old lunatics in the Cabinet. Half of them are absolutely gaga.'

'I suppose they do their best, but really Gladnor ought to have retired aeons ago. How he has had the face to hang on to a post in each successive Government is a mystery to me.'

'My pet, don't you know? he can't help himself, it's Mrs. Gladnor. She locks him up in the schoolroom and puts him on bread and water every time he threatens to retire!'

'Do you mean the old trout who wears a kipper instead of a hat?'

'Yes, lovie, she thinks he's a reincarnation of John Bull!'

'Well, if somebody doesn't do something soon we shall be in a fine mess. Lots of people are so scared they are leaving for the country.'

Veronica blew out a thin spiral of smoke and nodded. Herbert said something last night about packing Juliana, Augusta and me off to Banners.'

'That sounds rather grim.'

'Quite shattering, my dear, just think of mother and me cooped up at Banners without a soul to separate us when we fight. The thought appals me.'

Fiona turned as the door opened behind her. 'Hullo, Kenyon, my dear. How are you?'

'Splendid, thanks. Electioneering can be almost as good exercise as polo. How's Peter?'

'He's very fit, but so swollen headed I hardly know what to do with him. Last Sunday he got round the Red course at the Royal Berks in 82. He'll be here in a moment and then you'll have to hear all about it.'

'Good for him but all the same, I flatly refuse to listen to any more golfing stories except from registered voters in my own division.' Kenyon glanced at his sister, 'Well, long legs what about a drink?'

'Brute!' she flung at him, 'how many times have I told you that I absolutely forbid the use of derogatory terms in connection with my delicious limbs. The drinks are in the cupboard, and, my boy may I remind you that it is your turn to pay?'

'But hang it, we were away all last week,' he protested as he opened the cupboard. 'Still there's lots here some fresh bottles, too!'

'Yes, my love I ordered them this morning.'

'Oh, well that was decent of you I take it all back.

Veronica suddenly guffawed with laughter, 'And I put them down to your account at Justerini's! Tra la la!. . tra la la!'

'The devil you did! I owe them quite enough already.'

'Never mind, Herbert pays his bills regularly so they won't worry you.'

'I dare say not, but I hate running up big bills. Electioneering is the most expensive pastime I know after yachting.'

'You forgit the lidies, dearie!' mocked Veronica. 'All the same I think Herbert is a mean old pig to make us pay for our own tipple.'

'Does he?' exclaimed Fiona. 'I thought he was supposed to have one of the best cellars in England?'

Veronica nodded. 'Yes, sweet, and sherry, if you like it, is “on the ”ouse" as they say. But Herbert doesn't approve of cocktails so that great lumping rasta over there and I pay for our three pen'oth of gin in turns.'

The door opened again and a footman in plain livery announced 'Major Hay-​Symple.'

'Hullo, Veronica Fiona, how are you? How's Peter, eh? Hullo, Kenyon, old boy!' The rather thickset soldier with lively blue eyes threw a quick succession of smiles at them all. For a moment they stared at him in mild surprise. His immaculate khaki tunic with its little row of ribbons, wide breeches and shining field boots seemed strangely alien upon this intimate friend. That he should arrive at a cocktail party in uniform brought home to them more than any newspaper placard the gravity of the situation.

Then Veronica jumped up, and flinging her arms wide, kissed him with a loud smack on the forehead. 'Alistair, my hero! come and sit here by me. What news out of Flanders, laddie? Stand the King's colours where they stood spare not the gruesome details for we women of England. What news of the War?'

’Eh what’s that? What war?' Hay-​Symple looked vaguely astonished at her onset.

'The rioting or whatever you call it, stupid in all these horrid places that no one ever goes to!'

'Oh, well there's been a spot of bother in the North.'

'God! what a man!' Veronica sank back on the sofa, her hands clasped dramatically to her head. 'Details, my good fool details are what we want.'

He grinned good humouredly and took the cocktail that Kenyon held out. 'Well, there's trouble in Glasgow; the wires are down and some of these blackguards have sabotaged a bridge, but it's nothing to worry about. Three battalions of the Highland Division have been concentrated there, and they're great fellows know a lot of 'em myself. They'll soon put things right.'

Veronica shook him gently by the shoulder. 'You divine person, we heard all that hours ago from Fiona's hairdresser. Do you really mean to tell us that you don't know anything more?'

'Not much,' he smiled at her affectionately. 'We're just standing by. Have to give a telephone number if we leave barracks for more than half an hour that's all.'

Kenyon filled up Fiona's glass from his shaker, then he looked across at Veronica. 'Why waste your breath, sweet Sis?' he inquired with gentle sarcasm. 'Don't you realise that Alistair rides one of the King's horses and is one of the King's men. If he did know anything he wouldn't tell you in a thousand years. It's his job to keep his mouth shut.'

'That's true.' Hay-​Symple ran the back of his hand under his upturned moustache, 'but honestly I know little more than you can read in the papers. Only odds and ends about what to do in the event of an outbreak of plague and that sort of thing.'

'Gadzooks! these men what children they are,' Veronica exclaimed to Fiona. 'Let's all play robbers but don't tell the girls, they'd spoil everything!'

'The children must have their fun, darling!' Fiona smiled, 'they are, all going to be so important now. Alistair will run up and down in a nice brass hat before he's much older. Kenyon will be given a purple ribbon for his buttonhole, so that everyone will get off the pavement knowing him to be an M.P. and Peter well poor Peter will have to put up with a little red, white and blue shirt just to show he's on the right side in the General Strike.'

'It's all very well for you young women to scoff, but you may be almighty glad we've got an Army before this business is through.' Hay-​Symple held out his glass, 'Here, Kenyon, old man, give me another, will you?'

'Why do you compare this with a General Strike?' asked Kenyon curiously.

'Well, isn't it?' Fiona parried. 'They've been having the most ghastly trouble up at Peter's works in Sheffield since they stopped supplying the Balkans with munitions, and he's always said that when steel went down the drain, everything would go too.'

'I agree that all these strikes and stoppages have helped to bring it about, and the Communists have played an enormous part in aggravating the situation; they are so much stronger now, but that's where the resemblance ends. The Trades Unions and the working men are no more responsible for the present state of things than we are. It is the effect of colossal bad debts made through other countries cracking up taxation of industry out of all proportion to the profits made, and the complete stranglehold which the banks have acquired on every form of property and business. As long as they maintain their policy of refusing further advances without adequate cover more and more people are bound to go under, and every crash gets us nearer to six million unemployed which in turn means more taxation for the poor devils who are still striving to carry on. That is the vicious circle we are up against.'

Fiona nodded. 'Yes, the rations for the unemployed have got to be paid for somehow of course, but I don't see why the banks should lend money without security all the same.'

'They are getting it in the neck today,' observed Hay Symple, 'half London was queuing up this morning to get their money out.'

'Effects of last night's moratorium.' Kenyon patted his breast pocket. 'I was on the doorstep round the corner when they opened today and drew out a couple of hundred. The bank was chock a block with people then.'

'But why the panic, lovie?' inquired Veronica.

'Well, I knew there would be a rush, and it's just possible that they may not be able to stand it.'

Hay-​Symple swallowed the remainder of his second cocktail, 'I don't see why we're not on gold.'

'Gold has nothing to do with it. The loans made by the banks are always bigger than their deposits which is a queer situation anyway, but if they can't collect their loans they are stuck whatever they are paying out in. They need time to realise their stock just like any other business.'

'I should think it will put the lid on it if they do close down.'

Kenyon's reply was cut short by the reappearance of the footman, 'Mr. Hetherington, milady.'

'Hullo, Peter Hullo! Hullo!..,'

'Hullo, darling.;. Hullo, Kenyon…' the greetings flew round.

Hetherington smiled affectionately as he took Veronica's hand, 'Look here, my dear I've only come in to collect Fiona you must forgive me if I don't stay.'

'Why the hurry, Peter my love, someone chasing you with a writ?'

'Perish the thought! No, but I want to take her back to pack.' He turned and stooped over his wife's chair; 'I've just left your old man at the club, my sweetheart, and we both agree that it will be best if I motor you up to Scotland tonight.'

'My sainted aunt!' shrieked Veronica. 'Am I tight or have we all gone mad?'

Hetherington turned to her with a grave face. 'Honestly, my dear, we're in for trouble, and I mean to have Fiona out of it. Up in the Highlands among her own people on the West Coast she'll be safe whatever happens in the towns.'

'You stupid darling!' Fiona smiled at her large husband. but the protest was a caress and the sharp eyes of Lady Veronica Wensleadale, which never missed a trick, caught anxiety and adoration in the quick glance of the man as he bent over his wife.

Kenyon broke the momentary tension. 'Well, there's always time for a drink do you really know anything, Peter?'

'Yes. I had it over the private wire half an hour ago that the Reds have dynamited the Bradfield and Redmires dams. So Sheffield will be half under water by now.'

Veronica stared at him blankly. 'But, darling, Sheffield 's nowhere near the sea!'

'Of course not I'm talking about the reservoirs. When Dale Dyke burst in 1864, nearly three hundred people were drowned and half a million pounds' worth of property destroyed. This will be even worse with two dams gone and they've probably blown up the Ewden dam as well by now.'

'Oh, just think of those poor people,' Fiona sighed. 'What is going to happen to us all?'

'God knows,' said Hetherington grimly. 'Anyhow I mean to have you out of it. The result of the Admiralty decision looks like the last straw to me.'

'Need we talk about that?' Hay-​Symple stiffened slightly. His voice was sharp, and his eyes had suddenly gone cold.

'It's er common knowledge, isn't it?' Hetherington hesitated.

'What is it do tell us!' came the excited chorus.

The soldier shrugged. 'All right if it's got out already, may as well tell 'em. It's a pity though that these things can't be kept quiet. They only make people panic.'

'Come on, big boy spill the beans!' Veronica broke into the Americanese she sometimes affected as an alternative to her proficient Cockney.

'Well, you know all leave was cancelled last Saturday by the mobilisation telegram. It seems that quite a big proportion of the men failed to rejoin their ships. Fearing further trouble the Admiralty ordered the fleet out of its Home ports to rendezvous twenty miles south of St. Catherine's Point off the Isle of Wight. When they got there it was found that several of the capital ships were so seriously undermanned that, instead of sending them up to Scapa or some place where the malcontents could be dealt with, they ordered them home again; and now the sailors are deserting by the score.'

'By Jove!' Kenyon whistled. 'Then things are a jolly sight worse than we thought.'

'Well, anyway the Army is all right,' said Hay-​Symple grimly. 'But I must be getting back to barracks.'

As he stood up the footman reappeared. This time with a letter on a silver salver. He presented it to Kenyon and spoke in a low voice. 'A messenger boy has just delivered a large bunch of flowers, milord, and this note was with them. He said there was no reply.'

'Thanks, William excuse me, chaps.' Kenyon's face turned a deep shade of crimson as, angry and embarrassed, he turned away to open the letter. It was from Ann and read:

Dear Lord Fane,

It was not until this morning that I learned by accident of your identity. You chose to conceal it, no doubt on account of the fact that we move in such different circles and since that is the case, no possible good could come to either of us by continuing our acquaintance. I must apologise for the rather stupid remarks which I made about you in the train on the way to Ipswich, as I realise now that they were quite unjustified, but I am returning the flowers you sent me since I prefer to forget the whole episode as soon as possible.

Yours sincerely,

Ann Croome.

The others had been discussing the effects of the moratorium and Hetherington was confirming the rumours of an approaching bank crisis when Kenyon turned back to them.

'Who's been bunching you, Kenyon?' Hay-​Symple inquired with a grin, from the door.

'Oh er some flowers that I sent have come back went to the wrong address, I think,' he finished lamely.

Veronica suddenly hooted with laughter. 'Wrong address my foot! Just look at him, darlings do! The poor fish has been turned down by some wench. His face is as red as his hair!'

'Oh, shut up!' snapped Kenyon savagely. 'It's nothing of the sort.'

A general titter of amusement ran round the room, but after a moment it sank to a hushed silence. They had caught the voice of a newsboy calling in the square below. Faintly at first then louder, the harsh cry was wafted up to the strained ears of the listeners.

'Speshul edition! Speshul!… Speshul!… Decision by the Big Five… Banks Close Down!'

5

The Structure Cracks

The morning after she had returned Kenyon's flowers Ann put off getting up till the very last moment and lay thinking about him.

Perhaps she had been a fool to dash off that note. So many of her thoughts had centred round him since their first meeting, and now she had ended the affair by her own impulsive act. But he had deceived her about himself, and it rankled badly that he had allowed her to say those stupid things about him in the train. Still, she had apologised for that and Gregory was right of course; Kenyon would only regard her as a fit companion for a few evenings' amusement. No, she had taken a line, the right line, and she must stick to it even if he tried to open the affair again. She turned over on her tummy and nestled her dark head into the crook of her arm; then a sudden annoying thought struck her. She had forgotten again yesterday to give her ration card to Rudd. That meant no glass of milk for breakfast, and no butter for her bread. The wretched thing had been quite useless to her so far except for her light lunch in the City, although she had taken it out immediately on her return from Orford. If only she could get back to the sleepy peace of that little Suffolk village, but it was impossible unless she sacrificed her job. She had spoken of it the day before to her immediate superior, the fussy, pot bellied Mr. Crumper, and she could hear his sharp rejoinder now.

'Nonsense, Miss Croome nonsense. Business as usual will be our motto. The rioting will not affect us in the City you may be sure and we shall weather this crisis just as we did the one last winter.'

It would have been useless to argue with the man and, most of the other members of the firm seemed to share his view. Who would prove correct she wondered, Mr. Crumper and the office staff or Gregory Sallust and Kenyon Damn Kenyon! anyhow if the trouble blew over after all she would never get another job with things in their present state, so she must cling on to this one.

'A life on the Ocean Wave,' chanted a husky voice which she recognised as Rudd's, and a moment later he knocked loudly on her door. 'Yer wanted on the 'phone, Miss.'

Ann rolled over. 'Who is it?' she called.

'Gentleman name of Fane.'

'Tell him I do not wish to speak to him.'

' 'E said as 'ow I was to say it was urgent.'

'I don't care do as I tell you, and say I shall be grateful if he will not bother me by ringing up again!'

' Orlright, Miss. ' Rudd's heavy boots clumped away, and Ann turned over again with a set expression on her face. She hated weakness in other people and scorned it in herself. It was bad enough that she was half in love with the man already. To go on with the affair would only be to pile up endless misery for the future. Far better cut it out altogether.

Rudd obediently delivered her message, and Kenyon, wrapped in a thin silk dressing gown, hung up the receiver with an angry grunt.

The night before they had told him that she was out, and now she refused even to speak to him. In his bath he thought the matter over and admitted that he had not quite played the game. To talk of himself as seeking a Government position at £400 a year might be accurate, but it was certainly misleading, and to describe his father as a farmer with few investments was hardly in accordance with Debrett. His quick decision to conceal his title had been governed by his comparatively small experience with girls of the upper middle class. He had discovered in his Oxford days that they were apt to affect strange mannerisms which they believed to be socially correct as soon as they knew that he was heir to a Dukedom; whereas if they remained in ignorance they continued to be natural and amusing.

He wondered how she had found him out, and put it down to her seeing one of his photographs in the illustrated papers. Hardly a week passed without his appearing in one of them grimly smirking in a flashlight snap at some party, or with one enormous foot stretched out as he made for the paddock at a race meeting.

His mind leapt back to the darkened sitting room, visualising again fragmentary episodes of that unforgettable hour. His pulses quickened at the thought he had got to see her again somehow there wasn't a doubt about that. The best way would be to slip down to Gloucester Road and catch her before she left for the office. He scrambled out of his bath.

Breakfast, he decided, could wait, and having hurried through his dressing he telephoned for his car to be brought round.

In Gloucester Road, Rudd answered his ring, and with a quick grasp of his business clumped upstairs to the communal sitting room, leaving him below.

Two minutes later he came down again, shaking his yellow head: 'I'm sorry, sir, but Miss Croome sez she don't want ter see yer an' yer ter go away at once.'

Kenyon produced a pound note from his pocket book and displayed it to Mr. Rudd. 'Look here,' he said, 'I want to see Miss Croome very badly indeed, and I'm sure you've got a lot of work to do, so slip along and get on with it while I run upstairs… there's a good chap.'

'No, sir. This bein' my 'ouse as it were, I can't do that but I tell yer wot if 1 perswides the young lady ter see yer I earns it, eh? but if I don't you keeps the quid?'

'Splendid that's fair enough.'

Rudd ascended once more with new vigour in his step, and this time Kenyon had a longer wait, but his ambassador returned alone!

'No go, Guv'nor,' he said sadly. 'She sez she don't care if you do look 'orribly unappy like I told 'er an' I'm ter mind me own blinkin' business. But there's no accountin' fer wimen and their ways.'

'Never mind, keep this for your trouble.' Kenyon thrust the pound note into Rudd's hand. He liked the fellow's quick intelligent sympathy and felt that he might prove a useful ally later on.

'Now that,' muttered Rudd to himself, as Kenyon walked swiftly back to his car, 'is wot I calls a gentleman.'

It was not until Kenyon was sitting down to breakfast that he realised what a fool he had been to hurry back. If he had waited in Gloucester Road he would have caught Ann for certain on her way to work and might have made his peace. However, it was too late to think of that now.

The paper was full of the previous evening's decision by the banks. The suspension of payments was only a temporary matter, necessitated by the withdrawals of the day before which were estimated at the colossal figure of forty million. Assignats were now being printed and would be issued on demand to depositors when the banks reopened, which it was hoped would be on Monday. In the meantime patience, mutual help and 'our British sense of humour' were suggested to carry the population over the intervening days.

His Majesty's illness was referred to at some length. He had suffered a relapse on the previous day and his condition was causing the gravest anxiety. The physicians at Windsor insisted on all news being kept from him and would not allow even the Prime Minister to see him on the most urgent business.

The Prince had gone down to the Dockers' mass meeting the night before without any previous intimation of his intention. Some hostility had been shown, but this had been speedily drowned by a tremendous ovation from the majority, and his appeal for the maintenance of law and order had met with an excellent response. He had asked all those who could do so to enrol themselves as special constables or join the Greyshirt organisations in support of the existing Government, and had secured a thousand volunteers before he left. His courageous action had resulted in allaying unrest in the Dockland area.

The news from Glasgow was confined to a short paragraph. Disorders had occurred in certain sections of the city, but a number of Communist leaders had been arrested by the military and it was hoped that order would soon be restored. The train service would not be renewed, however, until after the week end.

'Not too good,' thought Kenyon, and the brief mention of the Navy was even less reassuring. A number of clashes had occurred between the police and the Communists at Portsmouth, and parties of sailors were stated to have been among the latter.

After breakfast Kenyon considered his supply of cigarettes. He had a few hundred left but if things became worse it might be difficult to get more since he smoked a particularly fine brand of Turkish made for him, at a very reasonable price, by an importer in Manchester. If he wired at once asking them to send him triple his usual order by passenger train they should arrive, with luck, next day. Kenyon was one of those people who never minded taking a little trouble to ensure his future comfort.

He walked round to the post office, dispatched his telegram, and then strolled on to his club. It was unusually crowded and the members were gathered six deep round the tape machine. 'What's the latest, Archie?' he asked an acquaintance on the edge of the group.

'Devilish difficult to say, old man,' Archie made a pessimistic grimace, 'the news is so heavily censored that very little really important stuff is allowed to come through.'

'Heard anything about this Glasgow business?'

'Have I not?' the other grinned. 'That old tiger who is commanding in the north bagged twenty Communist leaders last night, erected a nice old fashioned gallows on Glasgow Green, and hung the lot. He's keeping the bodies dangling too as a warning to the rest!'

'The devil he did! What will the Cabinet have to say to that?'

'Lord knows! They'll recall him, I expect, just like they did poor old Dyer in India after the Amritsar trouble years ago.'

Kenyon nodded gloomily. 'It'll be a rotten show if they do. It seems to me that our only hope now is a few stout fellows with real guts like that. By hanging twenty he's probably saved at least a hundred from being killed in street fighting.'

'You haven't heard anything from South Wales, have you?'

'No why?'

Archie lowered his voice. 'Well, that's one of the worst danger spots, and I had it from a man I know that there was an organised rising there last night. He says that some sort of Soviet have seized control in Cardiff.'

'Do you think his information is reliable?'

'Ah, that's where you've got me. I wondered if you'd heard anything, that's all.'

'Nothing except that business about the income tax collector, and that the miners are sabotaging the pits, but they've been doing that on and off for months past.'

They wandered into the smoking room and ordered a couple of dry sherries. Then Archie began to give his general views on the situation. They were not cheerful views and after a little Kenyon asked him what he meant to do,

'Well, I've got a little place in Gloucester only a glorified cottage, you know, but my cousin is Chief Constable of the county, so I thought I'd go down there for a bit, and take on any job of work he cares to give me; London will be no fit place to live in for the next few weeks.'

Kenyon nodded. It looked as if they would all have to get out soon if they meant to save themselves. His thoughts flew to Ann. How would she fare in London if the food supply broke down and there was really desperate fighting? He simply must get hold of her somehow, if only to persuade her to chuck her job and go back to Orford while there was still time.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, he said good bye to Archie rather hurriedly, but on his way through the hall old Lord St. Evremond stopped him.

'Have you heard?' he asked.

'No, sir what?

The old man nodded portentously and sank his voice. 'The King is dead died at five o'clock this morning.'

'Good heavens, sir 1 that is bad news especially at a time like this.'

'Yes, he was a great man too. Far greater than the bulk of the nation realised. He devoted his whole life to the service of his country and did a tremendous lot of good. It is an incalculable loss.'

'It is,' Kenyon agreed, 'and its effect on the public is bound to make things worse.'

'Oh, they won't let it out until this business has blown over. That would never do my information is strictly private, of course.'

I see but they can't hold the funeral over indefinitely and how do we know that this business is going to er, blow over?'

Lord St. Evremond gave an indignant grunt. 'Why, of course it will, my boy. We're British, ain't we? I hope you don't suggest that we should let a lot of out at elbows Communist fellahs run the country eh? We'll jug 'em. Yes, sir! jug 'em, and if necessary shoot the lot!'

'Well, I hope you're right,' said Kenyon mildly, and the old peer shambled away to spread his strictly private news elsewhere.

As Kenyon made his way up St. James's Street his thoughts were mixed. The King's death Communists and Ann. She was a Communist herself theoretically, but that was only stupid nonsense gleaned from the adolescent debating societies at Cambridge. One of half a dozen ways of blowing off excess of youthful steam. Probably, though, it partially explained her turning against him. How the deuce could he get hold of her again?

A familiar figure caught his eye as he crossed Piccadilly to Albemarle Street. Veronica sailing gaily along with a swing that displayed her supple figure and enchanting ankles to the admiration of the passers by.

'Hi!' he called. 'Hi!' as he hastened after her. A sudden inspiration had flashed into his mind.

'Hells bells! it's you!' She turned as he caught her up, 'I thought it was a street accident at the very least.'

'Where are you off to?' he asked.

'Home, lovie to fill my foul carcass with whatever cooked meats the chef offers us for lunch.'

'Well,' he paused opposite the entrance of the Berkeley, 'what about a cocktail first?'

'Angels defend me!' she exclaimed in a loud voice, apparently to the street at large. 'The Millennium is come my brother offers me a drink!'

'Do try not to be such an ass I want to talk to you.'

'Ha, ha! I thought there was a catch in it somewhere. But a drink's a drink, and talking costs nothing, so lead me to it, my most noble lord.'

In the lounge the maitre d'hotel himself, imperturbable as ever in this crash of empires, hurried up to them.

'We are not lunching today,' Kenyon told him, 'but you might send the cocktail man and some writing paper will you?'

'I take your order myself.' His teeth flashed in a quick smile. 'The cocktail man he is gone!'

'Gone where?' demanded Veronica with surprise.

The man gave an expressive shrug. 'I do not know, m'lady many of my waiters become frightened and they run away to Italy but I tell them they are fools. If they are not safe in England they are not safe anywhere. What cocktail would you prefer?'

Kenyon gave his order and turned quickly to Veronica. 'Look here I want your help.'

'Now, Kenyon darling, let's be quite clear. If it's money, for goodness' sake cancel the drinks I haven't got a cent.'

'It's not,' he reassured her. 'But you remember those flowers that came back last night?'

Tra-​la-​la! Do I not, my red headed Lothario.' Veronica rocked backwards and forwards in an ecstasy of mirth.

'Yes, I know you thought it devilish amusing anyhow, you were right the girl turned me down.'

Veronica's mirth changed to a. quick sympathy. 'Poor sweet!'

'You see, she's found out about the handle to my name, and she's sore that I didn't tell her in the first place.'

'And why didn't you, pray?'

'Because she's only somebody's secretary… oh, I know that sounds rottenly snobbish… but I picked her up in the train going to Ipswich.'

'Kenyon, you idiot! Why can't you confine your affairs to women in your own set? I know half a dozen who are dying to have an affair with you.'

'I dare say you do but that is beside the point as I happen to be crazy about this particular girl.'

'Don't tell me we are going to have prayers in the village church “to guide the footsteps of our young master” and, “Heir to Dukedom makes a Ruddy Fool of Himself” in all the papers?'

'Certainly not I haven't gone quite mad. But I do want to get on speaking terms with this girl again.'

'Then it's the young suburban Miss who must be batty my dear most of them would give their eye teeth to be ruined by a real live lord she must be a queer !'

'She's not a queer, or a suburban Miss on the contrary, she is damnably attractive, and I want you to be a darling and meet her.'

'What!' Veronica sat up as though she had been stung. 'Lord love us! the man is mad!'

'Shut up!' said Kenyon sharply, 'that piercing voice of yours can be heard from here to Leicester Square.'

'All right, darling don't get irritable, send for a spot more gin to help me to recover from the shock.'

'Sorry, my dear I'm a bit nervy, I'm afraid!' He gave the order and turned back quickly. 'Will you write a note saying how much you'd like to meet her, and ask her along to cocktails tomorrow night?'

'What, at home? Herbert would have a fit!'

'No he won't, he's too damned busy packing up the art collection and rushing if off to the bank.'

'Are you really serious about this, Kenyon?'

'Yes, honestly. It's the only way I can think of to break down this absurd class consciousness of hers in every other way she's a perfect darling.'

'But is she really presentable?'

'Absolutely I promise you. She wouldn't be at her best among a lot of smarts, because she has not acquired the gift of chattering like a parrot, and her Billingsgate is definitely poor but I wouldn't dream of asking you if I thought there would be any sort of gene. Her uncle is a country parson you know the sort of thing.'

'Do I not!' Veronica sighed resignedly. 'But I thought better of you, Kenyon. I expect she is the most deadly bore dull, dowdy and dumb!'

'No, she isn't. You'll find her charming if you'll only show a little bit of that nice generous nature that you persist in hiding under a flow of trashy wit.'

'Hark at the boy 1' she mocked him; 'never mind, give me the paper. Now what do you want me to say?'

'Oh, anything you like, provided that you make it clear that you really want her to come. Her name is Ann Croome, by the way.'

Veronica nibbled the end of her pen for a moment, and then covered two sides of a sheet of paper with her rapid scrawl.

'How's that?' she asked handing the result to Kenyon.

'Marvellous!' He folded the sheet of paper and thrust it into an envelope. 'Now just address it and we'll send it off right away.'

"There!' exclaimed Veronica when it was done, 'see how I cover your shameless amours with the cloak of my spotless purity come on, let's eat.'

When Ann received the letter some nine hours later she was on the point of going to bed after a long and tiring day. Mr. Crumper lived at Teddington, and for some reason unexplained, although it was rumoured that there had been sabotage in one of the principal power stations of the line, the electric trains were only running at half service. He had taken the delay and discomfort of his morning journey out of Ann.

She read the letter through slowly, and then something impelled her to glance through the window.

'Nation shall fight against Nation Brother against Brother and the Strongest shall go down into the Pit.' The harsh words of the strange man in the train came back to her with renewed force, for there through the clear glass, low in the heavens and curiously misty, hung the slender curved sickle of the fateful August moon.

6

The Exodus from London

The following morning Kenyon received a summons to the headquarters of the United British Party, and there at twelve o'clock he interviewed certain prominent members of the House. Two Cabinet Ministers were among them.

They informed him of the Government's decision that the Mid Suffolk by election was to be called off at least for the time being. Kenyon naturally protested, as his recent tour of the constituency had convinced him of the certainty of his election; but they told him that the Government was determined to prevent meetings of any kind which might lead to riots and disturbances and an election without meetings was unthinkable.

Forced to accept their decision, Kenyon informed them that as he was now a free agent he would volunteer at once for the mounted branch of the Special Police, but they asked him to refrain. Owing to the enormous pressure of business his services would be much more valuable in some administrative capacity. So he agreed to hold himself at their disposal.

Other business was discussed by the Party Chiefs before he left the meeting, so he found himself in the privileged position of attending the deliberations of a little group of men who, if not the actual Cabinet, were perhaps the most political body after it. The information which he gathered was first hand and authoritative.

The King's death was baseless rumour. The banks would definitely reopen on Monday, and the Assignats which they proposed to issue would receive Government backing, thereby converting them into legal tender.

A serious split had occurred in the Cabinet over the question of Martial Law. A strong minority were for proclaiming it immediately throughout the Kingdom, but the Labour, Liberal and weaker Conservative elements were averse to placing such power in the hands of the military. They instanced the high handed action of the Scottish Commander and even suggested his recall. At that the Secretary of State for War had intimated grimly that if the old Tiger went, he would go too.

Glasgow had then been thrown on the television screen in the Cabinet Room, and except for the sentries and Special Police the principal streets were seen to be quiet and orderly. The Minister for War had pointed out that the General's action, together with a rigid enforcement of the curfew, had been solely responsible for the restoration of order; and urged a general proclamation of Martial Law in view of the desperate situation in South Wales.

Television had then been switched on to Cardiff, but the receiving screen remained blank, and it was evident that the transmitters there had been damaged, yet the Prime Minister would not give way and they had adjourned at eleven thirty without reaching any decision on the point.

The naval situation was also causing bitter controversy, and the Secretary for the Dominions had stigmatised the action of the First Sea Lord in recalling the disaffected ships to their home ports as a cowardly compromise calculated to do endless harm.' Nor was his truculence pacified by the specious reasoning’s of the lawyers and schoolmarms among his colleagues who assured him that the ships were under armed and that they feared a general mutiny in the Fleet.

The affair of Canvey Island made the Home Secretary irritable and nervy. The previous night he had ordered the Special Branch to round up three hundred and fifty of the leading Communists in London and intern them there, but the Reds had proved to be better organised than he knew. In the early morning the big convoy of police vans had been ambushed in the marshes when nearly at their destination. A horrible melee had ensued, and after a desperate fight against automatics, razors and sawn off shotguns, the police had only succeeded in getting about half their prisoners on to the island. The rest had got clean away, and the Home Secretary was acutely conscious that only his personal jealousy of the War Minister had prevented him applying for the proper escort of troops and armoured cars which would have prevented such a disaster.

The Prime Minister likewise had a special worry of his own, for, without consulting him, the Prince had paid a visit to the Air Ministry and arranged for the dispatch of about forty planes to unknown destinations. The Minister of Air refused all explanations and offered his resignation, but as he was one of the few really popular figures among the masses the Prime Minister felt that this was no time to accept it. His Royal Highness's action was in the highest degree unorthodox, and the Prime Minister resented it accordingly, but faced with the duty of reprimanding him he felt an exceedingly strong desire to postpone the interview.

His Royal Highness was proving difficult in other ways too, apparently. With tireless energy he motored or flew from place to place, and wherever he went they knew him to be in constant consultation with important people who represented every shade of feeling. The only potentates whom he resolutely refused to interview were the principal members of the Government. He declared that authority had not been delegated to him, and therefore he was not prepared to take the responsibility of lending his countenance to their decisions. On the other hand the Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Home Secretary knew that he was in constant touch with the Secretaries of War, Air and the Dominions. The situation rankled.

Another nebulous but potent figure outside the Cabinet hovered on the Prime Minister's horizon. Lord Llewellyn with his great private organisation of Greyshirts, formed it was said without political aims, but for the maintenance of law and order under established Government. The Prime Minister detested the autocratic Llewellyn, and had the gravest suspicions regarding his middle class volunteers though it was denied that they were in any way associated with the Fascists. However, Llewellyn having offered his legions as additional Special Police the Prime Minister had been compelled to accept them under pressure from his more belligerent colleagues, and official status was to be given to the Greyshirt army that evening.

The last and most disquieting piece of news which Kenyon learnt before he left the meeting was that the mutinous sailors from Portsmouth were now marching on London, not as a mob, but in well disciplined formation, determined to lay their grievances before the Government.

The information had come through just as the Cabinet were breaking up after a five hour session, and the Dominions Secretary had made the cynical but practical suggestion that the Prime Minister and First Lord should go to meet them.' 'Ave a word with 'em,' he had urged as he lit a fresh cigar. 'Talkin's your big line and the boys are only a bit excited, they don't mean no 'arm!'

The Prime Minister, however, preferred that troops should be ordered out from Aldershot to head the sailors off and there, for the moment, the situation rested.

As Kenyon drove back to Grosvenor Square he was struck by the strange, unusual aspect of the streets. It might have been Sunday or some queer little semi bank holiday.

Less than half the ordinary number of buses were running, and there was hardly a trade van to be seen. Many shops were closed, and in front of others little knots of assistants stood chatting on the pavement. Some people were hurrying to and fro with unusual energy, others occupied the street corners in small groups evidently swapping the latest rumours. There also seemed to be an unusually large proportion of a class alien to the West End in normal times. Gaunt, pale faced workers in threadbare clothes, slouching along in little batches. Blue coated police and Specials dotted about in couples every hundred yards or so.

When he entered the residential district he was astonished by the activity which had invaded the quiet streets of Mayfair. Large private cars were being loaded up with trunks and boxes, and from many houses the more valuable possessions were being stowed into furniture vans.

In Grosvenor Square he found two great pantechnicons drawn up outside his home and sweating men staggering down the steps under the burden of a large Van Dyck. The short, fat, rubicund Duke was personally superintending the removal of his treasures.

'Damnable, but understandable!' was his comment when Kenyon told him of the decision to postpone the election. 'Heard about the sailors? They seem to be out for trouble.'

'Yes,' Kenyon nodded. 'I should think the balloon is due to go up in about two days' time now.'

'Less, my boy, less. The troops had to use the butts of their rifles on the crowd in the East End this morning. I have ordered the cars for three o'clock to take your mother and the staff down to Banners.'

'Hell!' thought Kenyon, 'that puts the lid on the cocktail party,' for even in the stream of startling events his mind had never been far from Ann and he had persuaded himself that she would accept Veronica's invitation. Now, if Veronica had to go down to Banners with his mother, Ann would find him alone in Grosvenor Square and probably imagine the whole business to be a put up job. His father's next words reassured him.

'I suppose you can fly Veronica down tomorrow?'

'Oh, rather!' Kenyon agreed with relief.

'She had a fine rumpus with your mother said she must go down with you tomorrow because she's got some party on this evening that she doesn't want to miss. What it can be at a time like this, heaven only knows but you know how impossible she is, and I can't force her, much as I should like to have her out of London tonight. They are going to proclaim martial law you know.'

'I don't think so, sir.' Kenyon reported the latest news from Westminster.

The Duke grunted irritably. I bet you a pony they will, whether the P.M. likes it or not. I saw J. J. B. this morning.'

'Did you?' exclaimed Kenyon, much interested, for 'J. J. B.' was the First Sea Lord who had undergone a serious operation only ten days before. 'I thought he was hors de combat in a nursing home.'

'So he was, or they would never have got away with that fool decision about the big ships. They've been keeping everything from him because he was so ill, but Jaggers broke through the cordon of medicos this morning and told him the whole position. He said J. J. B. ought to know even if it killed him!'

'I'd love to have heard his language!' Kenyon had a vivid mental picture of the red faced, autocratic sailor. 'What did he do?'

'Had himself carried out in his dressing gown there and then. He was still in it when I saw him. He said he'd choke the life out of that whimpering rabbit of a schoolmaster they'd had the impudence to foist on him as First Lord and do it with his own hands if they hanged him for it afterwards!'

"Good for him! I bet the fur is flying at the Admiralty now.'

The Duke chuckled. 'Yes, but he's a wily old fox. He went to the Air Ministry first. That's where I saw him I'd dropped in to offer them the cars as soon as they'd taken your mother to Banners.'

'What was the idea?'

'To get behind the Government, I think. Llewellyn was there and what's his name the War Office chap, and Badgerlake. It looked to me as if they were forming a kind of Junta. Jaggers told me that if the P.M. refused to declare martial law by midnight they meant to do it themselves, and Badgerlake will bring it out in all his papers tomorrow.'

Arm in arm father and son walked into lunch. Veronica and the high nosed Duchess were already there. A strained silence hung over the first part of the meal, punctuated by a wearisome little monologue of complaint from Juliana Augusta regarding Veronica's obstinacy folly and lack of feeling in refusing to accompany her to Banners that afternoon.

'Well, father's going with you,' Kenyon attempted to pacify her.

'You are wrong, dear boy, it seems that I am to be packed off alone with the servants; your father is going to Windsor.'

' Windsor! Whatever for?'

'Well,' the small red faced Duke spoke with unusual decision. 'We are faced with a national crisis of the first magnitude, and these Parliamentary people are all very well in their way, but they are a mushroom growth entirely. The whole basis of the throne is a loyal and responsible aristocracy. It is older, better, and more fitted to govern by centuries of practice than these er lawyer people. I do not suppose for one moment that I shall be called upon, but I feel that it is my duty to place myself at the disposal of whoever is acting for the monarch.'

Veronica was mildly amused. She thought it incredibly comic to see her fat and livery parent mouthing the phrases of a knight at arms, but for Kenyon the little man was invested with new dignity in claiming this ancient privilege of his order.

Directly the meal was over Veronica stood up. 'Well, darlings,' she declared. 'I'm going to have a L. D. on the B. without my B. and C

'What is the girl talking about?' muttered the Duke.

'A lie down on the bed without my bust bodice and corset,' she laughed, kissing the bald spot on the back of his head. 'Don't be rash and get yourself strung up to a lamppost or anything while we're away.'

As the two women left the room the Duke pushed the decanter over to Kenyon. 'Have some more port.'

'Thanks.' Kenyon filled his glass.

'Wish to God you'd got a son,' was His Grace's next rather unexpected remark.

'Son, father? I don't quite understand.'

'Don't you? You're a fool then. To carry on, of course. Three generations stand more chance than two. Surely you realise that you and I will probably be as dead as doornails before the month is out.'

'Do you really believe that?'

'I do. The whole system is cracking up. Tomorrow is Friday, isn't it? Do you realise what that means to the millions? It is the day on which nine out of ten people draw their weekly wage and the banks are shut. This Government rationing scheme can only be a stop gap because, now that the pound has gone to blazes, they won't be able to pay for the food cargoes which are coming in from the only stable countries that are left. London will be starving in a week!'

'Yes, I'm afraid you're right.'

'As a natural consequence the people will turn and rend their leaders. You can't blame 'em after all. How can you expect them to understand the terrible series of shocks our finance has sustained. The man in the street judges by results after all, and if he can't get food for himself and his family, he'll go out to burn and rob and wipe out the upper classes that he thinks have been responsible for landing him in such a mess.'

'That won't do him any good!'

'Of course it won't, that's the tragedy of it. But he will do it all the same, and you can take it from me that people like us are going to be hunted like hares before we're much older.'

The Duke pushed back his chair. 'Well, I may as well go and see about the rest of the pictures. Directly they are packed and your mother has gone I shall leave for Windsor.'

"Then er I may not be seeing you again for some little time?' Hesitantly Kenyon held out his hand.

'Bloody fools, aren't we?' His Grace of Burminster gave a stiff, unnatural grin. 'Keep out of it as much as you can, Kenyon don't shirk anything, I wouldn't ask that but your elder brother went in the War and you are the last of the hatching, so I'd like you to see it through if you possibly can. They may consider us effete, but England wouldn't be England without a Burminster in the background.' He squeezed his son's hand and let it drop.

By half past three the great house was empty and deserted, dim from drawn blinds and comfortless now with covers over all the furniture. The removal vans had gone with their freight of pictures and old silver. The Duke was on his way to Windsor, and Juliana Augusta had departed with the staff for Banners.

Having seen them off Kenyon began to make preparations for his own departure. He rang up Selfridges’s roof garage where he kept his helicopter to give instructions that it should be overhauled and made absolutely ready for an early start the following morning, but he received an unpleasant shock. All private aircraft had been commandeered, and his helicopter with the rest.

That meant motoring down, so he went through to the garage in the mews at the back of the house, and spent half an hour tinkering with his car. E. C. G. was the next thing, every ounce that he could carry, so he ran her round to the nearest filling station. A long line of cars stretched ahead of him, all bound on the same errand. Many of them were stacked high with the weirdest assortment of luggage. The great exodus from London had begun, and everybody who had any place to go to in the country was making for it.

In the queue strangers were talking together with unaccustomed freedom and exchanging the wildest rumours. The news of the sailors' advance on London was now common property. A story was current that the Scottish Commander had been assassinated, another that one of the principal power stations on the Underground had been wrecked that morning. Certainly trains were only running on two of the lines, and those had curtailed their services. When at last Kenyon reached the cylinders he asked for 5,000 atmospheres, but the man shook his head. One thousand was the limit for any car, irrespective of its size, and the price of gas ten shillings a thousand.

'But the price is controlled,' Kenyon protested.

'Can't help it,' said the man, 'if the rush continues it'll be a couple of quid termorrer do I renew your cylinders or not?'

Kenyon promptly parted with his money and drove away, but the episode made him more thoughtful than ever. Events seemed to be moving now with such terrifying speed. What would London be like in another twenty four hours with all these people abandoning the sinking ship, and the services breaking down? He began to feel guilty about detaining Veronica for another night, but it had never occurred to him that the trouble would accelerate so rapidly, and the more he thought of Ann the more determined he became not to leave London until he had satisfied himself about her future safety.

He was neither rake nor saint, but had acquired a reasonable experience of women for his years, and he could remember no one who had aroused his mental interest and physical desire to the same pitch as Ann. Now, in the customary manner of the human male when seized with longing for the companionship of one particular female, he was endowing her with every idealistic and romantic perfection.

Back at Grosvenor Square he decided that he ought to discuss the increasing gravity of the situation with Veronica at once, but her maid, Lucy, informed him that she had gone out.

At the sight of Lucy's trim figure a pert young hussy he had always thought her it occurred to him that she and his own man ought to be given the opportunity to rejoin their own families if they wished, and he put the proposition to them.

Lucy tossed her head. 'That is a matter for her ladyship, milord, though I wouldn't leave her with things like this even if she wished it. She'd never be able to manage on her own.'

'If it please your lordship I would prefer to carry on with my duties.'

'Well, that's nice of you both.' Kenyon nodded. 'Unless I receive instructions to take on a job of work I propose to leave for Banners first thing tomorrow morning. You can drive a car can't you, Carter?'

'Yes, milord.'

'Then Lady Veronica will come with me, and you can take Lucy with you in her ladyship's two seater. Better do any packing tonight. I take it His Grace has sent the rest of the staff down to Banners?'

'There's Moggs and his wife still here, milord.'

'I see well, I'll have a word with them.' Kenyon went downstairs to the grim gloomy basement. He paused to look into the store room and satisfied himself that although tinned goods and luxuries had been difficult to procure for months past, the chef, with the ducal purse behind him, had not allowed his reserves to become depleted. The contents of the shelves would have stocked a fair sized grocer's shop. Then he went on to the house keeper's room where he found Moggs, and his wife, the laundry woman of the establishment, enjoying a large pot of very black tea. He told them that the situation was growing worse from hour to hour, and suggested that they might like to make other arrangements.

Old Moggs, who cleaned the boots and apparently spent most of his day in the area, jerked a grimy thumb at his wife.

'Me and the missis 'ad better stay 'ere, milord can't leave the 'ouse empty, can we?'

'I don't like to,' Kenyon replied, 'but I'm thinking more of you than the house at the moment.'

'Very good of your lordship, I'm sure, but we'd just as soon stay 'ere as I told 'Is Grace, if it's all the same to you ain't that so, Martha?'

'I'm willin', Tom,' said his wife.

'All right,' Kenyon agreed, realising suddenly that the couple might have no home to go to, but thankful not to have to leave the house untenanted. 'Take what you want from the storeroom, but I should go canny with it if I were you there is enough there to last you a couple of months if you're careful.'

"Thank you, milord, an' my best respects.' Old Moggs touched an imaginary forelock.

'Good bye then, and good luck to you both!'

'Same to you, milord, same to you,' came the quick response as he left them in the eternal half light which perpetually envelops the dwellers below stairs in most London houses.

Up in his own study once more he began to pack a few of his more precious possessions into a couple of suit cases. He was growing more and more certain that if they ever got back to Grosvenor Square they would find it sacked and looted. With a regretful glance he ran his eye along the bookshelves, faced in reality now with the old problem: 'What books would you choose if left on a desert island?' Windwood Reade's Martyrdom of Man, that wonderful survey of the history of every civilisation. Magee's great new achievement Time and the Unconscious, enough suggestive matter there to keep the most able brains speculating for a lifetime; and John Cowper Powys' Glastonbury Romance with its half million words. These were Kenyon's choice for the open boat, bound he knew not whither.

It occurred to him that he ought to ring up the Party Office and see if they had decided on any job for him. If they had, Carter would have to run Veronica down to Banners; but the man he wished to speak to was not in, and the secretary had no message for him.

Restlessly he wondered now if Ann would turn up, even if she had meant to in the first place. He could not expect her before seven anyhow, but would she come at all in this state of crisis and with transport breaking down? He began to hatch fresh plans in case of her non appearance, but he needed Veronica's help and she had not yet returned.

It was nearly six, so he switched on the wireless to hear the latest bulletin. The Sappers had performed miracles with the wrecked bridge and the trains were running to Glasgow. Negotiations were proceeding which it was hoped would pacify the sailors. There was now reason to hope that the United States would lift their embargo as far as Britain was concerned, and extend further credits to ensure an adequate food supply. The Government were taking active measures to cope with the situation.

Kenyon turned off the instrument in disgust. Why was there no news of Cardiff or of the trouble in the East End that morning? The Government were trying to stay the panic by suppressing the most vital facts. Impatient now for Veronica's return, and unable to settle down to anything, he went out on to the front doorstep to watch for her.

A low built powerful Bentley roared out of Carlos Place at a hideously dangerous speed, but the driver, catching sight of Kenyon, pulled up a few yards past him with screaming tyres. Kenyon knew the car and ran down to meet him. It was young Bunny Cawnthorp, dressed as an officer of Greyshirts. There was a nasty gash across his forehead and his face was smeared with blood.

'I say! Are you bad?' Kenyon asked.

'No, nothing serious; we're having hell in the East End with these ruddy Communists. I can't stay though, only stopped to tell you to get out; London will be Red tomorrow.'

'I'm off first thing in the morning.'

'You go tonight, my boy I am!'

'But aren't you still on duty?'

'Duty be damned, Kenyon. I've slogged a few of these blokes and I'll slog a few more before I've done; but you know my mother is a cripple, and she's the only thing in the world that matters two hoots to me. My first duty is to see her safe out of it then I'll come back to the other if I can take care of yourself, old scout. So long!'

As the Bentley roared away Veronica pulled up in her two seater. Kenyon hurried over to her. 'Where the deuce have you been all the afternoon?'

'With Klinkie Forster; the poor sweet's due to shed an infant this week. Ghastly for her, isn't it?'

'Yes, filthy luck. I'd forgotten about that, and you're paying for the nursing home, aren't you?'

Veronica went scarlet. 'How the hell did you know that?'

'Oh, her husband told me, ten days ago. The poor devil was almost weeping with gratitude, and I know they've been down and out for months. I don't wonder you're always broke!'

'Well, that's my affair,' she snapped, angry and embarrassed as she fumbled with the door of the car.

'Steady on,' he soothed her. 'It's nothing to be ashamed of, and I meant to offer you a bit myself towards it, only I've been so busy I forgot; but don't get out. I want you to run down to Gloucester Road and pick up Ann.'

'She's coming, then? I had no answer to my note.'

'I think the post has gone groggy, like everything else; there's been no delivery yet today!'

'She may not have meant to come, anyway?'

'Perhaps not, but I simply must know what has happened to her, and if she is there I thought you could persuade her into coming back with you. I'll wait here in case she is already on her way.'

'My dear! You have got it badly!'

'Yes,' said Kenyon grimly, 'so badly that I've made up my mind to take her with us.'

'What! To Banners?'

'That's the idea; why not?'

Veronica exclaimed, protested, and talked wildly of Juliana Augusta's possible reactions to his project, but finally agreed to assist her brother when he had fully outlined his plans.

'But say she doesn't want to go with us; you can't keep her here all night against her will?' was her final protest.

'Got to,' said Kenyon tersely. 'You get her for me if she's there and think up some idea to delay her departure once she's here till nine o'clock; I'll do the rest! Off you go!' A quarter of an hour later Rudd showed her up to the sitting room in Gloucester Road.

Ann was there, and with her the Pomfrets who, apparently oblivious of the crisis which was shaking Britain, were busy addressing postcards to their friends asking them to get Pomfret's new book, The Storm of Souls, which was to be published next day.

Veronica sailed into the room, her small neat head tilted in the air. 'Miss Croome?' her smile was almost bewildering, 'I do hope you don't mind my coming in, but I've been simply dying to meet you because I've heard so much about you from my brother Kenyon. I spent the afternoon with friends in Queen's Gate, and as you were so near I thought I could give you a lift back?'

Ann was taken completely by surprise. She had decided not to go to Grosvenor Square but to write a letter of apology. 'How… how very nice of you,' was all she could murmur, a little breathlessly.

'Poor child,' thought Veronica. 'It must be horrid for her to have me butting in like this with these squalid people about.' Mentally she wiped the Pomfret’s from her consciousness like flies from a window pane: the girl hadn't meant to come, of course a stubborn little piece, but damned good looking, all the same. Yes, Kenyon knew his oats all right, and like it or not she was coming back Veronica meant to see to that.

'Ye Gods! what marvellous eyes you've got,' she exclaimed. 'I don't wonder Kenyon is crazy about you. Am I being terribly personal? I've got into such an awful habit of saying just what I think; do you mind if I smoke?' She whipped out an onyx cigarette case and dropped on to the settee.

'Oh, no; please do.' Ann's eyes showed interest and a flicker of amusement.

'Isn't that fun?' Veronica rattled on, thrusting the case at Ann.' 'Carter, my dear Miss Croome, I mean an American gave it to me; sheer blackmail, of course, but I simply had to have it.'

'I think it's lovely, and so are you!' Ann riposted neatly, as she returned the cigarette case.

Veronica launched swiftly into a series of incidents which had occurred to her during the day. Things always happened to Veronica that never happened to anyone else absurd, trivial things, but in the quick dramatic telling, punctuated by bursts of infectious laughter, they gained the status of incredibly humorous adventures.

It was impossible to be mulish in the face of Kenyon's magnetic sister if she laid herself out to charm, so when, after ten minutes' incessant talking, she exclaimed: 'My dear! It's a quarter to seven we must positively fly!' Ann found herself standing up too.

She had been laughing uproariously only a second before and the attack had been so sudden, so swift. How could she possibly say now that she did not wish to go, and begin an argument with the listening Pomfret’s in the background; two minutes later she was sitting beside Veronica in the car.

The stream of chatter flowed on. Veronica had no intention of allowing her captive time to think of belated excuses to make on the doorstep. The body of Ann Croome must be handed over to Kenyon in good order and good humour. Veronica took a pride in her achievements.

'Looks like a doss house, doesn't it?' she cried, as they entered the wide hall now stripped of its old masters. 'But we shall all be murdered in our beds, I expect, so what does it matter?'

Kenyon came down the stairs to meet them. 'Well, Ann,' he said, 'it is nice of you to come with all this upset going on.'

'I didn't mean to,' she said frankly, 'but I found your sister irresistible!'

They went up to Veronica's sitting room. Kenyon shook the drinks while his sister talked, and an hour sped by unnoticed, but Veronica had her all seeing eye on the clock. The guest must not be allowed to say that she was going!

Suddenly, as though struck by a lightning thought, she cried: 'What a bore, with the servants gone we can't possibly ask you to stay for dinner; but wait, I've got it! We'll picnic up here on what's left in the larder; come on, let's beat it to the basement!'

'Splendid!' Kenyon laughed. 'Ann shall cook us an omelette; she told me the other night that she could!'

What could Ann do against the enticements of these charming people? Only follow Veronica through the door that Kenyon smilingly held open.

Half an hour later she was seated on a table in the vast, empty kitchen, where in the spacious days of lavish entertaining twenty men and women had laboured at the preparation of ball suppers. She was gobbling a large slab of omelette which she had helped to make, and laughingly protesting that she was quite unfitted to give Veronica the cooking lessons which were for the moment that tempestuous lady's most earnest desire.

They opened champagne and drank it out of tea cups, scorning to call Moggs or Carter to their aid when they could not find the glasses; then carrying more bottles they proceeded upstairs into the silence of the great empty house.

Back in her sitting room, Veronica, with Ann beside her, curled up on the floor and began to tell the cards. There were journeyings across water, meetings in tall buildings, love, treachery, imprisonment, and in Ann's cards death!

When the last round was finished Veronica drew the pack quickly together with her slim fingers. 'Darlings, I must leave you,' she declared. 'Lucy is a perfect saint, but she simply cannot pack; don't go, Ann, please; give me a quarter of an hour and I'll be back.'

Alone with Ann, Kenyon wasted no time in fencing: He stooped to take her hand but she withdrew it quickly. 'Ann!' he protested, 'you're still cross with me?'

'Not cross but I only came this evening so as not to be rude to your sister. It doesn't alter anything I said in my letter.'

'What nonsense! I'm terribly sorry I didn't tell you my full name in the first place; but what difference does it make? I haven't got three legs, or a tail, or anything!'

'I see,' a glint of humour lurked in Ann's tawny eyes, 'you're just like any other man, and you're in love with me. Is that it?'

'I am.'

'A lot?'

'Yes, Ann, a lot.'

'Do you realise the logical conclusion then?'

'N… no,' he hesitated, fearing some kind of trap.

'In such circumstances it is usual for the man to want to marry the girl: do you want to marry me?'

The question was so direct that Kenyon hesitated again, floundered, and was lost. 'Marry?… well, you know… I hadn't meant to… yet!'

'Please don't go on, my dear.' Ann was smiling now. 'Of course you don't; I didn't expect for one moment that you would. I'm not suitable and I know it. If you were really going to get a Civil Service job at £400 a year I might be but you're not!'

'But Ann '

'What?'

'Well, I do care about you terribly.'

'Perhaps.' She stood up. 'I like you too; you must know that.'

'Then can't we carry on?'

'Listen,' she said slowly, fingering the lapel of his coat, 'it's this way. I might live with a man who wanted to marry me and couldn't if I liked him enough; but I would never live with a man who did not love me enough to want to marry me. I wonder if you understand. Anyhow, I'm going home now. Say good bye to that nice sister of yours for me, and tell her I liked her an awful lot and I have enjoyed this evening.'

'I understand, Ann; but you're not going home; I am not going to let you!'

'What do you mean?' Her eyes grew hard, and the heavy lids came down, half concealing them.

'Just this. I warned you to stay in Orford, but you wouldn't listen. It may be too late now for you to reach there safely on your own. I'm going down to the country tomorrow and I mean to take you with me.'

'No, Kenyon. I can look after myself; I'm not going with you.'

'You are.' His eyes were hard though he was smiling.

'I've had a room prepared for you and you'll sleep here tonight.'

'No!' she snapped, filled with sudden fury by his dictatorial manner.

'You will,' he repeated firmly.

'No!'

'I say yes! I've put you next to Veronica, so you will be quite comfortable and quite safe.'

'No! You've got no right to keep me here against my will!'

'Nobody will have any rights in a few days' time. I'm anticipating the movement, that's all!'

'No! You'll let me go now-​now! D'you hear!'

His only reply was to take her firmly by the arms. For a second she tried to wrench herself away but realised immediately how powerless she was against his strength.

He let her go for a moment and pulled open the door. 'Come on; do you walk or do I carry you?'

Beneath the lowered lids her eyes were blazing with anger as with sullen tight shut mouth she walked slowly past him. He piloted her down the corridor and pushed her gently into a spacious bedroom.

A tiny fire burned in the grate although it was early August, and the sheets had been carefully turned back in the great four poster. A nightdress Ann supposed it to be one of Veronica's lay across the bed. A dressing gown, slippers, and everything else she could possibly require also seemed to have been provided, but there was no other exit than the door by which she stood with Kenyon.

'I'll never forgive you for this,' she said slowly. 'Never!'

He smiled slightly. 'We're making rather an early start in the morning, I'm afraid, so you will be called a six o'clock. Good night, Ann sleep well!' He shut the door softly behind him, and with renewed fury Ann heard the key turn in the lock.

Kenyon went along to report to his fellow conspirator.

'Well?' asked Veronica curiously. 'How did she take it?'

'Damn badly. I had to lock her in!'

'Phew!' Veronica let out a peculiarly vulgar whistle. 'You'll find yourself in Bow Street, laddie, if these troubles blow over.'

'I don't care. She comes with us if I have to carry her all the way now. I love that girl like hell!'

Nevertheless, when Kenyon decided to call Ann himself in the morning, he found the door still locked but the bed unslept in and the window open. Ann Croome had gone.

?7

Nightmare Day!

Kenyon walked over to the window. There was an eight foot drop to the leads of the music room, then a short fire escape down to the empty garage, from which it was easy to get into the Mews. That was the way she had gone.

'Damn!' he said briefly, and striding back into the passage he knocked on Veronica's door.

'Yes, who is it?' came a petulant voice. Veronica was never at her best in the early morning.

'Me Kenyon.'

'You can t come in, darling, I'm naked!'

'All right, but look here Ann's cleared out.'

'More fool you for letting her. Where were you in your bath?'

'No; in my room, of course!'

'Ye Gods the man is crazy.'

Kenyon laughed angrily. 'I'm perfectly sane, thanks; we'll talk it over at breakfast, then.' He strode off to his room.

Veronica did not prove helpful or particularly sympathetic when they met over the bacon and eggs and tea. 'You had your chance last night, my boy, and it" you mucked it you've only yourself to blame,' was her somewhat cynical comment.

'What did you really think of her?' Kenyon asked.

'Oh, she's quite a sweet and too devastatingly bed worthy for words!'

'Veronica! Why must you drag that in?'

Her eyes opened wide. 'Snakes and ladders! Why not, my poor fool. You don't want to discuss higher thought with the wench, do you?'

'Of course not… but…'

'But what?'

'Oh, nothing.'

Veronica put down her teacup with a deliberate bang.

'S welp me Gawd, but I believe 'e is thinkin' of makin' an honest woman of 'er after all!'

'No,' said Kenyon 'I'm old fashioned enough to feel that I do owe something to the family and it would pretty well break old Herbert up.'

Veronica shook her head sadly. 'My dear, you are loopy, there's not a doubt about it. You don't want to marry the girl, you don't want to discuss the state of your soul with her, and you don't even want to play slap and tickle at least you say you don't. What the devil do you want?'

'I want to get her safe out of London; after that we'll see. Are you game to put off our departure till after I've been down to Gloucester Road?'

'Yes, my quixotic numskull, if you like. Let's start after lunch. That will give me a chance to see Klinkie again; she may have brought another infant into this world of sin by now.'

'All right. I'll go straight away.'

'Oi!' she called after him, 'chuck us the piper, lovey.'

He picked it up and glanced quickly through it. 'My hat! It's down to four pages now; that's bad.'

'Anything in it?'

'No, nothing new that matters; martial law declared last night… Train derailed at Peterborough… Further trouble at the London docks, and lots about a new scheme for rationing all commodities, but it's all fill up; bound to be now that the Press is muzzled by the Government censorship. Well, I'll be off; see you at lunch if not before.'

Although it was only just past eight a considerable number of people were about. Little groups of servants, from the big houses and blocks of flats which were still occupied, stood talking together. As Kenyon passed the Dorchester he noticed that some wag had chalked up the words: 'To Let Furnished' in large letters on the wall, but the big commissionaire still stood impassive and important at the front entrance. The Park displayed a bustle of activity. Troops, Special Police and long lines of lorries moved up and down between the food dumps, and sentries were posted on the gates. At Hyde Park Corner Kenyon saw half a dozen khaki figures, and some black blodges which he knew to be machine guns, high up on the great arch that spans Constitution Hill; an admirable strategic position commanding three main thoroughfares one side of Buckingham Palace, and the two Parks. In Knightsbridge there was quite a crowd, yet the streets looked empty, and after a moment he realised that it was because there was not a single bus in sight. The crowd thinned again, and he sped down Cromwell Road.

Mr. Rudd received him on the doorstep. 'Sorry, sir, Miss Croome ain't in not likely to be for that matter.'

'Why?' demanded Kenyon, with a sudden sinking feeling. 'Did she sleep here last night?'

'Yes, sir, same as usual; but she asks to be called at six when she come in lars' night. In a rare state she was too, that dirty! an' a temper! Well, I ain't never seen 'er like it before. Then she ups an' packs this mornin'; give me me money, an' 'ops it, rahnd abart a quarter of an hour ago.'

'Where to? do you know?'

' Liverpool Street I 'eard 'er tell the taxi. Don't know fer sure but I think she's got relations down Suffolk way.'

'Right. Thanks!'

'You're welcome, sir.'

Kenyon was already back in his car. Liverpool Street was the other end of London so he ought to be able to beat her to it if she only had a quarter of an hour's start. He was determined to see her again before she left.

Knightsbridge was more crowded now. Still no buses on the streets, but many cars loaded with luggage and streaming westward out of London. He raced up Piccadilly, wondering at his swift progress, then he saw the explanation. The traffic signals were not working, but farther on he paid the price; at the Circus there was a solid jam which took him twenty minutes to get through. In Trafalgar Square a crowd was collecting, but the police moved steadily through them, breaking up the groups. When he reached the Thames Embankment he was able to put on speed again, but had to pull up momentarily for a full battery of Field Artillery horses, guns, and limbers which was reversing preparatory to parking along the roadway under the windows of the Savoy. Blackfriars was almost deserted, and as he entered the City by Queen Victoria Street, he was reminded of a Sunday when he had attended a special service at St. Paul 's. The place was dead, empty, desolate. Long rows of closed offices and shuttered shops without a pedestrian in a hundred yards, and this was Friday.

Within a quarter of a mile of Liverpool Street he was brought to a halt. A long line of taxis and private cars, all heading for the station, barred his way; several thousand people, like Ann, were making for the Eastern Counties.

Kenyon fumed and fretted. He dared not leave the car in case it was stolen. Then he had an inspiration. If he took a side turning he could work his way round to the Bishops gate entrance; it was a risk, for Bishopsgate borders on the East End, but there would be nothing like the traffic, and after a few moments of twisting in and out through narrow streets he reached the eastern entrance of the station.

There was no sign of any crowd hostile to car owners such as he had feared, and a loafer in a battered hat stood nearby on the pavement. Kenyon beckoned him over.

'Can you drive a car?' he asked

'Not me, Guv'nor no such luck.'

'All right,' said Kenyon… 'Come and sit in this one. I may be half an hour or so but there's a quid for you when I get back.'

'Strite?'

'Yes, I mean it.'

'Orlright, Guv'nor,' grinned the loafer.

Kenyon hurried into the station. From the top of the staircase he could see the wide platform spread beneath him. It was one black seething mass of humanity; it seemed utterly hopeless to try and find Ann in such a crush, but he went down and shouldered his way in amongst them.

After a few moments he reached the footbridge and crossed it, knowing that the departure platforms were on the other side. The space there was even more densely crowded, but he managed at least to edge his way through the crush to the gates, beyond which lay the trains. There were a number in the sidings but to his surprise all that he could see were empty, and not one showed any sign of imminent departure. A tired looking porter who sucked at an unlit cigarette leaned over the barrier, and the nearest members of the crowd were bombarding him with questions. He only shook his head.

'It's no use blamin' me,' he kept on saying. 'There won't be no more trains till further orders.'

Kenyon questioned the people who stood around him and learned that the provincial towns had become very alarmed at the influx of visitors in the last few days. Now they were employing their local police to prevent any but permanent residents in their municipalities from alighting. Thirty or forty trains had returned to Liverpool Street during the night, still loaded with their human freight and the railway company, not unnaturally, refused to sanction the departure of any more.

Obviously Ann could not have left London then. Kenyon turned and looked at the closely wedged mass of people who stood there, speechless for the most part and waiting in the hope that the Company might reverse its decision. She must be somewhere among them if only he could find her, so he buffeted his way back towards the booking office. That too was crammed with patient careworn humanity.

For ten frantic minutes Kenyon squeezed and pressed his way through the throng, standing on tiptoe at every second step to peer above the heads of the surrounding people. Then he gave it up as hopeless and made his way back to his car.

His new acquaintance uncurled himself from the seat, and Kenyon handed him the promised pound. The fellow grinned sheepishly.

'Don't seem fair to tike it reely does it? Still, h'easy come and h'easy go, as they say. Well, so long, Guv'nor I only wish there was a h'upset like this every day!'

Kenyon sped back through the deserted City and along the Embankment, but he passed the end of Northumberland Avenue, thinking it better to cut out Piccadilly and Trafalgar Square. Yet near Victoria Street he got caught again. This time by a long religious procession. It was headed by priests from the Cathedral who carried Crosses and an image, while they chanted an age old hymn. Dozens of little boys in surplices followed meekly in their train. Free of it at last the rest of the journey was easy, and he pulled up once more outside 272 Gloucester Road. The door was open so he went straight up, not expecting to find Ann, for he did not think she could have returned so quickly, but determined to wait for her. Rudd was in sole possession of the sitting room and he was busy. Two large automatics lay on the floor in pieces, and he was polishing their parts with loving care.

'Hullo!' said Kenyon. 'Where did you get those things?'

Rudd grinned. 'Mr. Sallust give them to me, sir told me to clean 'em up just in case like.'

Kenyon did not ask 'in case of what.' He knew, so he sat down to wait for Ann, and Rudd meanwhile entertained him.

Eleven o'clock chimed from the hideous pale bronze clock on the mantelpiece, then twelve, and he began to wonder what had happened to her. If only she had been reasonable the night before they might have been out of London by this time. He found himself taking cigarette after cigarette out of his case until it was exhausted; Rudd, who had long since reassembled his dangerous looking battery, but continued to bear him company, came to the rescue with a packet of Gold Flake.

Kenyon sat on, but by the time the clock struck one he was thinking of Veronica. To delay much longer would not to be fair to her, and he must get her down to Banners somehow, yet every moment he wanted more desperately to see Ann. At twenty minutes past he pulled himself together, and stood up to go.

Rudd promised faithfully that he would telephone the very second that Ann returned, and with that slender comfort Kenyon descended to his car.

He took the by ways to Hyde Park Corner, but there he found a block; thousands of people and several hundred police. The sailors from Portsmouth with the aid of commandeered vehicles had completed their march, and were due to arrive any moment. Arrangements had been made for them to camp in the Green Park. A dozen people, cheerful but unapologetic, immediately occupied the bonnet and back hood of his car, so Kenyon, knowing it would be useless to protest, took the invasion without comment and stood up in the driver's seat.

Over the heads of the crowds, from the corner of St. George's Hospital, he saw the bluejackets go by. Shepherded by mounted police and cheered by a considerable proportion of the people, they passed quite peaceably to their temporary encampment. With them were quite a number of soldiers, sympathisers Kenyon supposed, from the Aldershot Command which, rumour said, had failed to head the sailors off.

He looked meditatively again at the tall arch. The men up there were hidden now, but at the first sign of trouble they could mow the malcontents down like ripe corn.

The crowd suddenly thinned, overflowing into the street. His uninvited companions who were using his car as a grandstand smilingly descended, and at a foot pace he edged his way towards Hamilton Place. A few minutes later he was back in Grosvenor Square.

Veronica had started lunch without him, and she felt quite shocked as she gave a quick glance at his drawn face.

'What is the matter, darling?' she asked.

'Oh, nothing,' he said wearily, and sitting down, told her the events of the morning.

'I see,' she said slowly. 'Well, as a matter of fact, Alistair rang up. He wants me to meet him this afternoon at a tea shop behind Wellington Barracks; and I said I would if you were agreeable to postponing our departure till this evening.'

'That's not true, Veronica! You thought of that story to give me another chance to see Ann.'

'My sweet, I may be an habitual liar, I am with most people, but I don't have to be with my own brother!'

'Honestly?'

'Yes, honestly!'

'No, I've got to get you down to Banners this afternoon; perhaps I'll come back tomorrow, we'll see.'

'I suppose you're worried stiff about her?'

The fact that I don't know where she is, and the thought of what may happen to her, if she is not out of London by tonight, is driving me half crazy.

I like your little Ann, Kenyon.'

'Do you really?'

Veronica thought him almost pathetic in his eagerness for her approbation. 'Certainly I do,' she said firmly. 'She's got guts, darling, guts. And I adore the way she hopped out of the window; I've been thinking about her all the morning.'

'Thanks, Veronica; you've been damn good about this business.'

'Don't be a fool! I'm never good about anything unless it suits my book. Now I'm going to leave you to finish your lunch alone.'

'Right. We'll get along in half an hour's time.'

When he had finished he rang for his man and asked:' 'Did you go up to Euston this morning, as I told you?'

'Yes, milord, and the cigarettes from Foyer and Co. had arrived. I had an awful job to get them, though.'

'Had they, by Jove! Good old Yorgallidis! What a performer not to let us down, even at a time like this. Were the crowds very bad?'

'Shocking, milord, no trains running, and by the time I left the people were that angry they were wrecking the booking offices.'

Kenyon nodded gloomily. 'It's about time we cleared out. Pack a good sized picnic basket, and put it with the cigarettes and luggage in the car.' Carter's usually impassive face showed sudden surprise.

'Am I to take it that you are going without her ladyship?'

'Of course not; she's upstairs getting her things.'

'Excuse me, milord, her ladyship left the house about ten minutes ago, and I was to tell you that she would be back round about half past six.'

'I see. We must wait till she gets back then.' Kenyon did not believe the story about Alistair for one moment. With quixotic disregard of danger to herself, Veronica was giving him a few more hours to try and get in touch with Ann; between the two of them he was now at his wits' end with anxiety and worry.

There was no alternative but to take advantage of her generosity so he decided to telephone to Rudd. When he dialled the number there was no reply. He dialled it again and a man's voice spoke:

'Number, please?'

'I dialled it,' said Kenyon.

'If you will give it me, I will ring you as soon as I can,' said the voice.

Kenyon gave the number, thinking as he did so how greatly it would add to the Government's difficulties if the telephone service broke down. For half an hour he sat beside the instrument, then the call came through. Rudd had no news of Ann, nor could he suggest any place that she was likely to have gone to. He promised to telephone if she did return to Gloucester Road.

For an hour Kenyon paced the library in growing desperation. He tried to read but could not settle to a book. Where, in all this vast stone wilderness of London 's streets, could Ann be at that moment, was the thought that racked his mind; and what would become of her in the days ahead if he could not make certain of her safety.?

At half past four he rang up again, waited half an hour rang up the supervisor, and was begged by the much harassed operator to be patient. It was a quarter past five before his call came through still no news of Ann.

With a sudden feeling of guilt he remembered that he had not been in touch with Party headquarters that day. They might have work for him in connection with rationing or some emergency committee, so he put through a call to the office. After another long wait he got through to his immediate Chief, but the man was worried, irritable.

What did he want? Why didn't he get off the line? They were expecting important news… It was essential that incoming calls should not be blocked… Kenyon rang off quickly, praying that he had not blocked a call from Rudd. In nervous exasperation he put through another. The wait seemed interminable, and he felt now as though he had been sitting beside the instrument for days. It was nearly seven o'clock before his call came through.

'Rudd speakin', sir. Bin tryin' to get you this last 'arf hour. Miss C. come in at a'pars'six. Bin ter see 'er cousin in Muswell 'Ill, I gather, but 'er cousin weren't there; she's gone out again now… When'll she be back?… That's more 'an I can say. Gone out wiv Miss Girlie she 'as ter get a bit of food, I reckon.'

'All right, I'll come right along,' said Kenyon.

He dashed up to Veronica's room only to find that she had not yet come in. Downstairs once more he paced restlessly up and down the hall now furious with impatience to get away. Carter appeared, silent footed and efficient as usual with a cocktail shaker and glasses on a tray. He poured one out and offered it to Kenyon.

'Can I help you in any way, milord?' he asked quietly.

'Yes er thanks.' Kenyon swallowed the drink and seized gratefully of this offer of assistance. 'Get Lady Veronica's car and load it up; directly she returns bring her and Lucy down to 272 Gloucester Road; understand?'

'Very good, milord.'

'Right, and now come and give me a hand with the picnic basket and my own things. I'm going on ahead but I'll wait there until you turn up.'

Directly his car was loaded he headed once more for South Kensington. Hyde Park Corner was still alive with people eddying slowly backwards and forwards in the evening light. Agitators were haranguing large sections of the crowd, but the police seemed to be in sufficient force to prevent any hostile demonstration. It took him twenty minutes to get through the press, but once he reached the top of Sloane Street he was able to slip away.

A square grey motor truck stood outside 272, stacked with boxes, barrels, and every variety of tinned goods; Rudd was on top of it arranging a tarpaulin to cover the load.

'She ain't got back yet, sir,' he called cheerily to Kenyon, 'but don't you worry, she won't be long.'

'Thank the Lord for that!' As Kenyon got out of his car he glanced through the grocer's window. The interior of the shop looked as though a hurricane had swept through it; empty boxes, paper, and cardboard cartons littered the floor, while the shelves were practically denuded of their stock. Then he noticed that the name on the lorry had been blacked out, and just below the driver's seat a small W.D. with a short broad arrow, the mark of the War Department, stood out in fresh white paint.

'Hullo!' he exclaimed, 'have they commandeered your stock?'

'Yes, commandeered; that's what it's bin, sir!' With quick efficient fingers Rudd jerked tight the last knot; 'I should wait upstairs if I was you.'

Kenyon took the hint and left him. In the sitting room he found the Pomfret’s peering excitedly out of the window at the doings of Mr. Rudd below.

T do think we should do something about it, Hildebrand,' the woman said sharply.

'My love, what can we do?' the lanky man protested.

'Can't you go for the police?'

'Good evening,' said Kenyon; 'what's the trouble?'

Mrs. Pomfret turned on him and waved her small fat hand appealingly.

'They've taken all poor Mr. Gibbon's groceries; really, they ought to be stopped.'

'Why?' asked Kenyon. 'Surely the Government has the right to commandeer things in times of emergency like this?'

'But it's not the Government; I'm sure it's not! Mr. Gibbon knows nothing about it, and the very moment he'd gone home they started to loot his shop. I wouldn't be surprised if that van they've got isn't stolen too!'

'Really? But who are “they”. Are there others in it besides Rudd?' inquired Kenyon with astonishment.

'Oh, its that Mr. Sallust, of course. Rudd only does what he tells him treats him like a kind of god though why I cannot think; a cynical, heartless man!'

'My love, you are prejudiced on my account,' Pomfret said mildly.

'Well, he could have got you some marvellous notices in his paper if he had wished, but he was positively rude when I suggested it!'

'Not rude, my dear; he only said that fine work was always bound to make its mark, and that overworked reviewers were apt to become irritated if pestered for complimentary notices.'

'He did not mean that kindly, Hildebrand; it was a sneer. But can we do nothing to prevent him stealing all those things?' She looked hopefully at Kenyon.

Sorry,' he said. 'I'm only waiting for Miss Croome, and directly I've seen her I must get away.'

There was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs. Griselda Girlie poked her head round the door and then came in. Ann was behind her.

'My dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret as Ann pulled off her hat, 'where have you been? You look half dead!'

'I am,' she said wearily. 'I must have walked twelve miles and all for nothing; I've had a filthy day. The book's not out, I suppose?'

'No; isn't it infuriating? Hildebrand went down to his publishers this morning but they were shut.'

'What rotten luck for you.' Ann sensed the tragedy of the thing for this struggling couple by the hunted look in the man's eyes, but the next moment she had caught sight of Kenyon standing half hidden behind Griselda and the open door.

'Good evening, Ann,' he said. 'Can I talk to you for a moment I mean alone?'

'No! How dare you come here after last night?'

'I'm sorry.' Kenyon was horribly embarrassed by the presence of the Pomfret’s and Griselda. 'Look here,' he hesitated, 'I only came to find out what you are going to do?'

'That does not concern you in the least!' The other three moved over to the window.

'Why, here's that awful woman again!' exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret.

'What woman?' asked Griselda.

'She came here yesterday; the most vulgar, ill bred person I have ever…' Mrs. Pomfret broke off suddenly, remembering that Ann was in the room.

Kenyon had overheard her. Mrs. Pomfret might well apply such a description to Veronica. A swift glance out of the other window confirmed his guess. There she was, seated in her car with Lucy beside her, and Carter, bored but dignified, clasping the most unsuitable of headgear, a bowler hat, upon the dicky. She saw him and waved a greeting as he turned back to Ann.

'Look here,' he repeated, 'there are no trains running from Liverpool Street you know that and you must get out of London somehow. How do you propose to set about it?'

She stared at him angrily. 'I don't. I shall probably stay here lots of people will have to!'

'You're mad! and I won't have it.' All Kenyon's pent up anxiety from his long day of worry was coming out with a rush.

'You!' she snapped. 'You won't have it?'

'No. Since you are incapable of looking after yourself I'm going to do it for you! I refuse to leave you here.'

She laughed then shook her head. 'I'm afraid you'll have to this isn't Grosvenor Square and you can't take me by force!'

'Can't I? I can and I will!'

Ann drew quickly away from him, a little scared by the hard light in his blue eyes. 'Go away!' she said. 'Go away!'

'No,' he gripped her by the arm, 'not without you don't be a fool, Ann. It's madness to stay here. If you had other plans I wouldn't interfere, but you haven't so you've got to come with me.'

'I won't Oh, Mr. Pomfret Griselda stop him!' Ann cried as he pushed her towards the door.

'May I ask… Pomfret stepped forward while the two women beside him stood with wide, excited eyes.

Kenyon dropped Ann's arm and advanced on the novelist with a threatening glare. 'You go to hell! Keep out of this, do you hear? unless you want to get hurt.'

Pomfret backed hurriedly away, but Ann had seized the opportunity to rash out of the room, and the door crashed to with a resounding bang. Kenyon tore it open and dashed after her across the landing. She had slipped through the further door, but he threw his shoulder against it before she had time to lock it on the other side, and she was sent flying to the floor while he came sprawling on top of her.

'Now!' he panted, seizing her again, 'we've had enough of this.'

'And so have I,' cried an angry voice. It was Gregory Sallust, a bricklayer's trowel in one hand a large brick in the other.

Kenyon stumbled to his feet and looked round with amazement. Sallust's room presented an extraordinary spectacle. The bed had been moved out of a large alcove, and in its place were stacked hundreds of books, boxes, bundles; apparently all the worldly possessions which Gregory Sallust could not carry with him, but held dear. He was busy bricking them up and a three foot wall already separated the alcove from the rest of the room. Rudd stood nearby mixing mortar on a board, and the two big shiny pistols which Kenyon had seen earlier in the day reposed behind him on the abandoned bed.

'Gregory!' Ann ran forward, clutching at the mason's arm, 'stop him! Oh, don't let him, please?'

Sallust shook himself free impatiently. 'Let him what?'

'Take me away! He's trying to force me to go to the country with him against my will!'

'Is that true? Sallust looked sharply at Kenyon.

'Yes, more or less but if she stays here she'll starve.'

'That's so. I'm clearing out tonight. Why don't you want to go, Ann?'

'I won't! not with him. Gregory, if you're going, take me with you please?'

'Sorry, my dear it's quite impossible.'

'But why why?'

'Because I'm too old a soldier to want to have a woman hampering my movements at a time like this.'

'Don't be a brute, Gregory. You can drop me directly we get into the country. I'll manage somehow then.'

'Don't you be a stupid little fool. If Fane is ass enough to want to take you let him! and thank God for giving you such damn fine eyes!'

'Thanks,' Kenyon cut in. 'If ever we meet again I'll stand you the best magnum of champagne we can find for giving her that sound piece of advice. Come on, Ann!'

'Gregory please?' she begged.

'Oh, shut up, and get out I'm busy. And for God's sake keep what you've seen to yourselves, otherwise someone will come and break this wall before I get back.'

She turned on Kenyon, her eyes blazing. Im not going with you I won't!'

'You are,' he said, 'and now!' Then stooping suddenly, he picked her up in his arms. She kicked and fought, but it was useless. In stature she was hardly taller than a well grown girl of fifteen, and still struggling ineffectively, he carried her down the stairs.

'Darlings!' shrieked Veronica as they appeared on the pavement. 'Romance at last! How too thrilling!' She flung open the door of Kenyon's car while Carter and Lucy, now seated side by side in her own, endeavoured to hide their interest and astonishment under masks of gravity.

Kenyon dumped his burden in the centre of the car. Veronica slipped into the near side, and slammed the door while he ran round to the driver's seat.

Ann wriggled into an upright position as Kenyon touched the accelerator. 'Let me get out,' she cried fiercely. 'Let me get out! Help!'

'Shut, up, damn you,' snapped Kenyon. He was furious that he should have let himself in for such a scene, but determined now to go through with it. The car slid forward.

'Help!' shouted Ann again, while the residents who remained in Gloucester Road began to fling up their windows to learn the cause of the excitement; but Veronica put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

'Listen, my sweet,' she said firmly, 'if the police or anyone stop us now I'm going to tell them you are loopy. Your poor little baby died last night and the shock has temporarily turned your brain, so your nice kind cousin Veronica is taking you to the country. I've got away with worse stories than that in my time, so you needn't think they won't believe me understand?'

'Yes,' sobbed Ann. 'I believe you'd get away with murder!'

'I would,' said Veronica, 'if it was for anyone I was fond of!'

?8

Nightmare Night!

Ann let herself relax into a more comfortable position between them, realising suddenly that she had been acting like a fool. All day she had been striving to leave London, really frightened now as to what might happen in the capital, and here was a heaven sent opportunity. If it had not been for Kenyon's high handed treatment of her the previous night if he had only tried persuasion instead of bullying and if she had not been so wretchedly tired after her long and disappointing day, she would have come quite willingly. He could not prevent her leaving him at the journey's end if she wished.

Kenyon was angry with Ann, and with himself. If only she had been reasonable the night before this ridiculous scene would not have occurred, but he ought, of course, to have been more patient with her actually to kidnap her was pretty stiff it was the impulsive nature which went with his red hair, he thought ruefully, which led him into scrapes like this. Anyhow, the thing was done, and he had her safely beside him in the car, which meant a lot. He turned his attention to the best way of getting out of London.

'Why this gaiety by night?' asked Veronica. They were coming into Grosvenor Place, and the sound of many voices raised in a swinging chorus came to them from the direction of Piccadilly.

'Sailors in the Green Park, I expect,' muttered Kenyon, 'looks as if they had bonfires going too,' he added glancing eastwards at the red glare that lit the dying twilight.

'Poor Queen Elizabeth all her nice furniture at Buck House going up in smoke.'

'Oh, no, I don't think so,' he disagreed as he swung the car in the direction of Victoria but Veronica was already thinking of other things.

'What sort of a reception would they have a Banners?' she was wondering. 'It was one thing to arrive there according to their plan of the previous evening with Ann as a willing adjunct to the party. Juliana Augusta might prove a little awkward, but Veronica had prepared a story to fit the case, and at the time she had counted on Ann's cooperation in putting it over. Now it was a very different matter. This small, pink wildcat with the tawny eyes was apparently guaranteed to blow up on the slightest pretext. What asses they would look if Ann spilled the beans about her forcible abduction!'

By the tram terminus at Victoria there was a considerable gathering of people. The trams, like the tubes and buses, had now ceased running altogether, but the crowd appeared to be waiting there on the off chance that something might happen. A news van drew up just ahead of the car and the people swarmed towards it, so they were compelled to pull up, while bundle after bundle of the thin sheets were distributed to eager hands. The man on the van would give no change. 'No time,' he kept on repeating and many a shilling or half crown reached his ready palm in addition to the coppers of the multitude, which seemed to grow every moment. Within four minutes the van was empty and the disappointed members of the throng sullenly dispersing.

Kenyon had no chance to secure a copy, but a bystander gave him the leading items of news from the single sheeted edition which he held.

The Government had resigned… the Communist minority in the House had made a bid for power, but the Committee of Imperial Defence had temporarily taken over the control of the country… there was a stirring appeal by the Prince for fair play and the maintenance of law and order. All loyal citizens were asked to refrain from hoarding food, and adding to the difficulties of the police by congregating in the streets.

The crowd thinned, and Kenyon was able to proceed slowly through it. Soon they were running at a good pace down Victoria Street, which was almost deserted; long lines of shuttered shops, gloomy and lifeless in the shadows, for there had been more trouble at the power stations and only one side of the street was lighted.

At Westminster there were crowds again also apparently waiting for something to happen. The great bulk of the Parliament Houses loomed up grim and silent, deserted after the last momentous session. The strong iron gates were closed, and police mounted guard at the entrances. In the yard, which is habitually the parking place for Members' cars, Kenyon saw groups of soldiers sitting about or leaning on their rifles.

By sticking close behind a police van, he managed to get through the square without difficulty, and round the corner to Westminster Bridge, but to his surprise he found the bridge head guarded. A large tank stood in the middle of the road, chains had been drawn across from side to side and detachments of police stood on either pavement. An inspector came forward.

'Can't I go through?' asked Kenyon.

'No, sir. I'm sorry, but this bridge has been closed to traffic and pedestrians.'

'But why?'

'Well, it's not that we mind people going south, sir, but to prevent them coming over from the other side. If we took the barrier down they might rush us.'

'Good gracious, who?' smiled Veronica looking at the empty bridge.

The inspector grinned. 'You'd soon see, miss, if you was on the other side. That's where the real barrier is; this is only a sort of second line. They're a real ugly lot over by the County Hall tonight.'

Kenyon nodded. He had meant to avoid the worst districts on the south side by going out of London via Brixton and Herne Hill, then through Bromley into Kent. Now he would have to rearrange his plans. 'Are all the bridges closed?' he asked.

'No, sir, it's just the Houses of Parliament and the Government offices round Whitehall that we're anxious about at the moment. It's important that there should be no trouble round here.'

'I want to get on to the Maidstone Road,' Kenyon confided, 'but I thought it would be a bit risky to take the ordinary way.'

'It's a pity you didn't go yesterday, sir. So much has happened these last twenty four hours, and in some places the people are a bit out of hand we can't be everywhere at once you see. I'd cut back as far as Putney Bridge if I were you, and make a big circle you'll be out of all the trouble then.'

Kenyon frowned. The plan was a good one, but he was anxious now about his supply of gas. He had not been able to fill up to capacity the previous day, and had used a lot in the last twelve hours. A circuit by Putney Bridge would increase his mileage enormously and if his pressure failed they would be stranded by the roadside. It occurred to him that if he telephoned to his Party headquarters they might be able to tell him of a place in the neighbourhood where he could pick up some more, so he nodded to the Inspector and backed his car. 'There's a call box in the Underground Station, isn't there?' he asked.

'There is, sir, but there are only skeleton staffs on the exchanges now, and they're too busy to put through any but official calls. The military take over at midnight.'

'Thanks, Inspector.' Kenyon turned to the faithful Carter who had now pulled up behind him: 'You'll be all right for gas with the small car, so you'd better leave us here go out round Putney. I'm going to the office, it's only just round the corner, and I'll follow you if I can, but get out of London as quickly as possible and don't worry about us.'

'Very good, milord just as you wish,' Carter touched the absurd bowler hat, Lucy smiled brightly, and the small car backed away.

When he reached his office he looked at Ann doubtfully. 'You won't make trouble or anything, will you?'

’No I’m sorry I made a fuss. I'll come with you to the country, but no further you understand that, don't you?'

He smiled at her downcast face as he got out. 'An armed neutrality, eh? well, just as you like.'

In the office he found everything in confusion. Not being actually a Government department its continuance was in no way vital, and most of its principal executives being people with some sort of official position, they had abandoned it to attend to more urgent affairs. Normally it would have been closed hours before, but owing to the crisis a certain number of clerks and typists who had congregated there during the day now displayed no intention of even endeavouring to get home. Kenyon could find no one in authority and, after refusing half a dozen cups of tea from female members of the staff, went out into the street again.

A commissionaire was on duty, but when questioned about gas, shook his head. 'Thirty bob a thousand, sir, it was today, but I doubt if you'd get any anywhere now. Most of the gas filling stations have been cleaned out.'

Scotland Yard was only just across the square, so Kenyon thought he would go there. He did not expect that they would be able to help him in the matter of gas, but they would probably know about conditions on the other side of the river, and if there was any real danger in taking the direct route over London Bridge and down the Old Kent Road.

Whitehall was a thick jam of people right up to Trafalgar Square and more seemed to be flooding in every moment, despite the fact that the bridge was closed and the tubes and buses not running. Up near the Horse Guards the crowd was singing, and Kenyon recognised the tune as the Red Internationale, so things did not look too good in spite of the squads of police who kept the people moving.

The car crept along at a foot pace but after he had gone about fifty yards he was forced to bring it to a standstill. A mob of roughs were eddying round a big Daimler. Inside, gaunt impassive monocled, sat a grey moustached General, apparently on his way to the War Office. They were booing him but he appeared quite unconcerned. A detachment of mounted police rode up, edging their horses through the crush with the skill born of long practice. The hooligans dispersed, the Daimler moved on, and Kenyon followed.

The gates at the entrance of Scotland Yard were closed, but they were opened for a minute to admit a lorry on which was mounted an enormous searchlight. Kenyon caught a glimpse of motor cars, reserves of mounted and foot police, and the steel helmets of soldiers in the courtyard. Every window of the great building was brightly lighted and the shadows which moved constantly across them told of an intense activity within. Kenyon was directed to the entrance further down, at Cannon Row Police Station; there he had to wait some little time. Half a dozen rioters were being brought in and a wounded policeman. A little batch of sad eyed aliens stood in a corner of the room; they had no knowledge of what was happening in their own countries, but now that England seemed to be on the verge of Revolution, they were anxious to get away, and turned with pathetic confidence to the police.

A hysterical woman was loudly insistent that the Sergeant should find her husband, who had gone out the evening before and failed to return. 'There would be plenty of that,' Kenyon reflected, 'in the next few days.'

At last he managed to get a few words with the harassed officer. Gas was out of the question. Even if he could find a supply he would not be allowed to buy it without a permit. All stocks had been commandeered by the Government. The bridges were open except for Westminster and Waterloo. As far as the Inspector knew there had not been any serious rioting in Southwark or Bermondsey. Isolated cases but nothing more, and cars had been going through up to the last hour.

The Sergeant attributed the comparative quiet in the South Eastern area to the fact that the majority of roughs had come up to the West End. There had been considerable looting in the Strand earlier in the evening he said, but the mob had been dispersed by baton charges and the situation was well in hand. 'If things get worse we've got plenty of tear gas inside,' he ended up jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 'We'll have to give 'em a real lesson.'

Considerably cheered to think that somebody who possessed real resolution was handling the situation at last, Kenyon fought his way back to the car, and taking the short cut down Cannon Row to Westminster Bridge again, turned left along the Embankment.

Night had fallen now but no sky signs illuminated the tall buildings on the south bank of the river, and owing to the lack of traffic a strange hush seemed to have fallen over London, yet there was something sinisterly menacing about that unusual silence broken only by the deep drone of patrolling aeroplanes as they passed now and then low overhead.

The City was quiet as the grave, only an occasional knot of men tramping westward and a few policemen standing on the street corners.