LITMIR.BIZ

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best to stop the car among the suburban groves of southernwood, and to creep into the town in the disguise afforded by motor coats, motor veils and motor goggles. (For of course all these had come with the motor car when it was wished for, because no motor car is complete without them.)

      They said good-bye warmly to the Halma motor man, and went quietly towards the town, Max and Brenda keeping to heel in the most praiseworthy way, and the parrot nestling inside Philip’s jacket, for it was chilled by the long rush through the evening air.

      And now the scattered houses and spacious gardens gave place to the streets of Polistopolis, the capital of the kingdom. And the streets were strangely deserted. The children both felt—in that quite certain and unexplainable way—that it would be unwise of them to go to the place where they had slept the last time they were in that city.

      The whole party was very tired. Max walked with drooping tail, and Brenda was whining softly to herself from sheer weariness and weak-mindedness. The parrot alone was happy—or at least contented. Because it was asleep.

      At the corner of a little square planted with southernwood-trees in tubs, Philip called a halt.

      “Where shall we go?” he said; “let us put it to the vote.”

      And even as he spoke, he saw a dark form creeping along in the shadow of the houses.

      “Who goes there?” Philip cried with proper spirit, and the answer surprised him, all the more that it was given with a kind of desperate bravado.

      “I go here; I, Plumbeus, Captain of the old Guard of Polistopolis.”

      “Oh, it’s you!” cried Philip; “I am glad. You can advise us. Where can we go to sleep? Somehow or other I don’t care to go to the house where we stayed before.”

      The captain made no answer. He simply caught at the hands of Lucy and Philip, dragged them through a low arched doorway and, as soon as the long lengths of Brenda and Max had slipped through, closed the door.

      “Safe,” he said in a breathless way, which made Philip feel that safety was the last thing one could count on at that moment.

      “Now, speak low, who knows what spies may be listening? I am a plain man. I speak as I think. You came out of the unknown. You may be the Deliverer or the Destroyer. But I am a judge of faces—always was from a boy—and I cannot believe that this countenance of apple-cheeked innocence is that of a Destroyer.”

      Philip was angry and Lucy was furious. So he said nothing. And she said:

      “Apple-cheeked yourself!” which was very rude.

      “I see that you are annoyed,” said the captain in the dark, where, of course, he could see nothing; “but in calling your friend apple-cheeked I was merely offering the highest compliment in my power. The absence of fruit in this city is, I suppose, the reason why our compliments are like that. I believe poets say ‘sweet as a rose’—we say ‘sweet as an orange.’ May I be allowed unreservedly to apologise?”

      “Oh, that’s all right,” said Philip awkwardly.

      “And to ask whether you are the Deliverer?”

      “I hope so,” said Philip modestly.

      “Of course he is,” said the parrot, putting its head out from the front of Philip’s jacket; “and he has done six deeds out of the seven already.”

      “It is time that deeds were done here,” said the captain. “I’ll make a light and get you some supper. I’m in hiding here; but the walls are thick and all the shutters are shut.”

      He bolted a door and opened the slide of a dark lantern.

      “Some of us have taken refuge in the old prison,” he said; “it’s never used, you know, so her spies don’t infest it as they do every other part of the city.”

      “Whose spies?”

      “The Destroyer’s,” said the captain, getting bread and milk out of a cupboard; “at least, if you’re the Deliverer she must be that. But she says she’s the Deliverer.”

      He lighted candles and set them on the table as Lucy asked eagerly:

      “What Destroyer? Is it a horrid woman in a motor veil?”

      “You’ve guessed it,” said the captain gloomily.

      “It’s that Pretenderette,” said Philip. “Does Mr. Noah know? What has she been doing?”

      “Everything you can think of,” said the captain; “she says she’s Queen, and that she’s done the seven deeds. And Mr. Noah doesn’t know, because she’s set a guard round the city, and no message can get out or in.”

      “The Hippogriff?” said Lucy.

      “Yes, of course I thought of that,” said the captain. “And so did she. She’s locked it up and thrown the key into one of the municipal wells.”

      “But why do the guards obey her?” Philip asked.

      “They’re not our guards, of course,” the captain answered. “They’re strange soldiers that she got out of a book. She got the people to pull down the Hall of Justice by pretending there was fruit in the gigantic books it’s built with. And when the book was opened these soldiers came marching out. The Sequani and the Aedui they call themselves. And when you’ve finished supper we ought to hold a council. There are a lot of us here. All sorts. Distinctions of rank are forgotten in times of public peril.”

      Some twenty or thirty people presently gathered in that round room from whose windows Philip and Lucy had looked out when they were first imprisoned. There were indeed all sorts, match-servants, domino-men, soldiers, china-men, Mr. Noah’s three sons and his wife, a pirate and a couple of sailors.

      “What book,” Philip asked Lucy in an undertone, “did she get these soldiers out of?”

      “Caesar, I think,” said Lucy. “And I’m afraid it was my fault. I remember telling her about the barbarians and the legions and things after father had told me—when she was my nurse, you know. She’s very clever at thinking of horrid things to do, isn’t she?”

      The council talked for two hours, and nobody said anything worth mentioning. When every one was quite tired out, every one went to bed.

      It was Philip who woke in the night in the grasp of a sudden idea.

      “What is it?” asked Max, rousing himself from his warm bed at Philip’s feet.

      “I’ve thought of something,” said Philip in a low excited voice. “I’m going to have a night attack.”

      “Shall I wake the others?” asked Max, ever ready to oblige.

      Philip thought a moment. Then:

      “No,” he said, “it’s rather dangerous; and besides I want to do it all by myself. Lucy’s done more than her share already. Look out, Max; I’m going to get up and go out.”

      He got up and he went out. There was a faint greyness of dawn now which showed him the great square of the city on which he and Lucy had looked from the prison window, a very long time ago as it seemed. He found without difficulty the ruins of the Hall of Justice.

      And among the vast blocks scattered on the ground was one that seemed of grey marble, and bore on its back in gigantic letters of gold the words De Bello Gallico.

      Philip stole back to the prison and roused the captain.

      “I want twenty picked men,” he said, “without boots—and at once.’

      He got them, and he led them to the ruins of the Justice Hall.

      “Now,” he said, “raise the cover of this book; only the cover, not any of the pages.”

      The men set their shoulders to the marble slab that was the book’s cover and heaved it up. And as it rose on their shoulders Philip spoke softly, urgently.

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