"Shall I fetch the light, Captain?" whispered Blueskin. And, turning at the touch, he perceived Sheppard's glance fixed meaningly upon him. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. " When Spurlock had finished the tale, touched here and there by his own imagination, McClintock made a negative sign. Sheppard; "and to-day is Monday. " "'Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold.
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