About seven miles from London, Selingman gave the signal for the car to
pull up. They drew in by the side of the road and they all stood up in
their places. Before them, the red glow which hung over the city was
almost lurid; strange volumes of smoke were rising to the sky.
"Rioters," Selingman muttered.
Julia looked around with a little shiver. There were no trains running,
and a great many of the shops were closed. Some of the people lounging
about in the streets had the air of holiday makers. Little bands of men
were marching arm in arm, shouting. Occasionally one of them picked up
a stone and threw it through a shop window. They had not seen a
policeman for miles.
"It is the beginning of the end," Maraton said slowly. "The only pity
is that one must see it at all."
Julia pointed down the road.
"What is that?" she asked.
A long, grey-looking line was slowly unwinding itself into the level
road. It came into sight like a serpent. It reached as far as the eye
could see. From somewhere behind, they heard the sound of music.
"Soldiers," Maraton replied--"marching, too."
They moved the car over to the other side of the road. Presently a
mounted officer galloped on ahead and rode up to them.
"Your name and address, please?"
Maraton hesitated.
"Why do you ask for it?" he demanded.
"I am sorry to inform you that your car must be surrendered at once,"
was the reply. "I hope we shall not inconvenience you very much but
those are the general orders. Every motor car is to be commandeered.
Sorry for the lady. Give me your name and address, please, at once, the
cost price of your car, and how long it has been in your possession?"
Selingman gasped.
"Is the country at war?" he asked. "We have come from South Wales
to-day. We heard nothing en route."
"There are no newspapers being issued," the officer told them. "The
telegraph is abandoned to the Government, and also the telephone. Even
we have no idea what is happening. We are trying to run a few trains
through to the north but we have had a couple of hundred men killed
already. They are to start again the other side of Romford. In the
meantime, I am sorry, but I am bound to take possession of your car at
once."
"My name is Selingman."
The officer looked at him curiously.
"Are you Henry Selingman," he enquired--"I mean the fellow who has been
writing about Maraton?"
Selingman nodded.
"Then I am afraid I can't say I do feel so sorry to inconvenience you,"
the officer continued grimly. "Alight at once, if you please--all of
you."
"But how are we to get into London?" Selingman protested.
"Walk," the officer replied promptly. "Be thankful if you reach there
at all; and keep to the main streets, especially if the lady is going
with you.
"Are there no police left?" Maraton demanded.
"We drafted most of them away to the riot centres. Then the train
service ceased, too, and they haven't been able to come back. Now we
have had an alarm from somewhere--I don't know where and we've got
orders to push troops towards the east coast. If you'll take my advice,
Mr. Selingman," the officer concluded, "you'll keep your name to
yourself for a little time. People who've been associated in any way
with Maraton are not too popular just now around here."
Some more officers had ridden up. Two were already in the car. Soon it
vanished in a cloud of dust on its way back. Julia, Selingman, Aaron
and Maraton were left in the road, along which the soldiers were still
marching. They started out to walk. Now and then a motor-car rattled
by, full of soldiers, but for the most part the streets were almost
empty. No one spoke to them or attempted to molest them in any way. As
they drew nearer London, however, the streets became more and more
crowded. Men in the middle of the road were addressing little knots of
listeners. There was a complete row of shops, the plate-glass windows
of which had been knocked in and the contents raided. They pushed
steadily onwards. Here and there, little groups of loiterers assumed a
threatening aspect. They came across the dead body of a man lying upon
the pavement. No one seemed to mind. Very few of the passers-by even
glanced at him. Selingman shivered.
"Ghastly!" he muttered. "This reminds me of the first days of the
French troubles. How quiet the people keep! They are tired of robbing
for money. It is food they want. A sandwich just now would be a
dangerous possession."
They reached Algate. There were still no trains running, and nearly all
the houses were tightly shuttered.
"Six weeks!" Maraton murmured to himself as he looked around. "Could
any one believe that this might happen in six weeks!"
"Why not?" Selingman demanded. "You stop the arteries of life when you
stop all communication from centre to centre. It's the most merciful
way, after all. Everything will be over the sooner."
They passed down Threadneedle Street, a wilderness with boards nailed up
in front of the great bank windows. A little further on there was the
usual crowd of people, but they were all hanging about, uncertain what
to do. There was no Stock Exchange business being transacted, simply
because there were no buyers. At the Mansion House they found a few
'buses running, and managed to board one which was going westwards. It
set them down in New Oxford Street, not far from Russell Square. Here
there were denser crowds than ever. The entrance to the square itself
was almost blocked.
"What's going on here?" Maraton asked a loiterer.
They heard a loud, hoarse yell, repeated several times. The man pointed
with his finger.
"They are round. Maraton's house," he answered. "They have broken in
all his windows. He's not there or they'd have had him out and flayed
him alive."
A brief silence ensued. There seemed something ominous in this message,
delivered apparently from one typical of his class, a worker out of
work, a pipe in his mouth, a generally aimless air about his movements.
"But forgive me," Selingman remarked, "I am a stranger in this country.
I have been told that Maraton is a friend of the people."
The man nodded gloomily.
"There's plenty that calls him so in other parts of the country," he
assented. "I belong to a Working Man's Club and what we can't see is
what's the bally use of a job like this? He's bitten off more than he
can chew--that's what Maraton's done. He's stopped the railways and the
coal, and even you can tell what that means, I suppose, sir? Pretty
well every factory in the country is shutting down or has shut down.
Well, supposing the Government make terms, which they say they can't.
The miners and railway men may get a bit more. What about all the rest
of us? We're more likely to get a bit less. Then what if the Germans
get over here? There's all sorts of rumours about this morning. They
say that three-quarters of the fleet is hung up for want of coal. . . .
My! Look there, they've fired his house! I wouldn't be in his shoes
for something! They say he's hiding up in Northumberland."
The man passed on. Maraton was the first to speak.
"Come," he said quietly, "there is nothing here to be discouraged at.
We knew very well that for the first few months--years, perhaps--this
thing had to be faced. We must get rooms somewhere. I have to meet the
railway men to-night. Young Ernshaw rode up from Derby on a motor-cycle
to make the appointment. As for you, Selingman," Maraton went on, as
they turned back towards New Oxford Street, "why do you stay here? Your
coming has been splendid. It has been a joy to have you near. But
between ourselves," he added, lowering his voice, "you know what mobs
are. Take my advice and get back home for a time. We shall meet
again."
Selingman shook his head.
"I helped to light the torch," he declared. "I'll see it burn for a
while. I was in Paris through the last riots--a dirty sight it was!
You'll pull through this. Maybe we're better apart for a time. But
we'll see one another housed first," he added. "I want to know where
you all are."
There was no difficulty about shelter of a sort. The private hotels,
which were plentiful in the neighbourhood, were half empty, and supplied
rooms readily enough, although they were curiously apathetic about the
matter. At each one of them the charges for food were enormous.
Maraton divided a bundle of notes into half and made Aaron take one
portion.
"Look after Julia," he directed, "and I think you'd better keep away
from me. A good many of them knew that you were my secretary. Look
after your sister. Keep quiet for a time. Wait."
He tore a sheet of paper from his pocket-book, wrote a few lines upon it
and twisted it up.
"You will find an address in New York there," he said. "If anything
happens to me, go over and present it in person."
Aaron took it almost mechanically. His eyes scarcely for a second had
left his master's face.
"Let me stay here," he begged, "if it's only an attic. There may be
work to be done. Let me stay, sir. My little bit of life is of no more
account to me than a snap of the fingers. Don't send me away. Julia's
a woman--they won't hurt her. She can go back to her old rooms. The
streets are quite orderly. Let me stay, sir!"
"No one seemed to notice us come in," Julia pleaded. "Let me stay, too.
You heard what the porter said--we could choose what rooms we liked. It
is safer in this part of London than in the East End, and you know," she
added, looking at him steadily, "that if there is trouble to come, I
have no fear."
Maraton hesitated. Perhaps they were as well where they were, under
shelter. He nodded.
"Very well," he agreed. "There seems to be no one to show us about. We
will go and select rooms."
In the hall they passed a man in the livery of the hotel. Maraton
enquired the way to the telephone, but he only shook his head.
"Telephone isn't working, sir," he announced, "not to private
subscribers, at any rate. They haven't answered a call for two days."
"Are any meals being served in the restaurant?" Maraton asked.
The man shook his head.
"Not regular meals, sir," he replied. "What food we've got is all
locked up. You can get something between eight and nine. We close the
hotel doors then."
"They tell me I can select any room I like upstairs that isn't
occupied," Maraton remarked.
The porter nodded.
"Nearly all the servants have gone," he explained, "so they can't try to
run the hotel. Gone out to find food somewhere. They couldn't feed
them here."
"Is there wine in the place?" Selingman asked.
"Plenty," the man answered.
"If needs be, then, we will carouse," Selingman declared. "First, a
wash. Then I will forage. Leave it to me to forage, you others. I
know the tricks. I shall not go away. I shall stay here with you."
They selected rooms--Maraton and Selingman adjoining ones on the first
floor; the others higher up. Then Selingman departed on his expedition,
and Maraton sat down before the window in the sitting-room. He drew
aside the curtain and stared. They had been in the hotel rather less
than half an hour, but the autumn twilight had deepened rapidly.
Darkness had fallen upon the city--a strange, unredeemed darkness. The
street lamps were unlit. It was as though a black hand had been laid
upon the place. Only here and there the sky was reddened as though with
conflagration. Maraton's head sunk upon his arms. These, indeed, were
the days when he would need all his courage. He threw open the window.
There was a curious silence without. The roar of traffic had ceased
entirely. The only sound was the footfall of the people upon the
pavement. He looked down into the street, crowded with little knots of
men, one or two of them carrying torches. He watched them stream by.
It was the breaking up of the crowd which had gathered together to sack
and burn his house.
The door was softly opened and closed again. He turned half around.
Through the shadows he saw Julia's pale face as she came swiftly towards
him. With a sudden gesture she fell on her knees by his side. Her
fingers clasped him, she clung to his arm.
"Ah, I knew that I should find you like this!" she cried. "Don't look
down into the street, don't look at those unlit places! Look up to the
skies. See, there is a star there already. Nothing up there--nothing
which really matters--is altered. This is only the destruction that
must come before the dawn. It was you yourself who prophesied it, you
yourself who saw it so clearly. Oh, don't be sad because you have
pulled down the pillars! It isn't so very long before the morning."
He passed his arm around her and gripped her fingers tightly. So they
were sitting when, by and by, Selingman burst into the room.