” Nigel Ennison looked up with a little start. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. Then he turned to Anna. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. 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. "It's runnin' a great risk. We felt like thieves.
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