anything. But his main business lay in
Clerkenwell and in various parts of the East End, wherever he could see
his fellow-agitators. In hot haste he wrote an announcement of a meeting
on Clerkenwell Green for Sunday afternoon, and had thousands of copies
printed on slips; by evening these were scattered throughout his
'parishes.' He found that the calumny affecting him was already widely
known; several members of his committee met him with black looks. Here
and there an ironical question was put to him about his sister's health.
With the knowledge that Alice might be dying or dead, he could scarcely
find words of reply. His mood changed from fear and indignation to
a grim fury; within a few hours he made many resolute enemies by his
reckless vehemence and vituperation.

The evening papers brought him a piece of intelligence which would have
rejoiced him but for something with which it was coupled. Delancey,
_alias_ Rodman, _alias_ Williamson, was arrested; he had been caught in
Hamburg. The telegram added that he talked freely and had implicated
a number of persons--among them a certain Socialist agitator, name not
given. As Mutimer read this he fell for a moment into blank despair. He
returned at once to Holloway, all but resolved to throw up the game--to
abandon the effort to defend himself, and wait for what might result
from the judicial investigations. Adela resisted this to the uttermost.
She understood that such appearance of fear would be fatal to him. With
a knowledge of Demos which owed much to her last night's experience, she
urged to him that behind his back calumny would thrive unchecked, would
grow in a day to proportions altogether irresistible. She succeeded in
restoring his courage, though at the same time there revived in Mutimer
the savage spirit which could only result in harm to himself.

'This is how they repay a man who works for them!' he cried repeatedly.
'The ungrateful brutes! Let me once clear myself, and I'll throw it up,
bid them find someone else to fight their battles for them. It's always
been the same: history shows it What have I got for myself out of it
all, I'd like to know? Haven't I given them every penny I had? Let them
do their worst! Let them bark and bray till they are hoarse!'

He would have kept away from Clerkenwell that evening, but even this
Adela would not let him do. She insisted that he must be seen and heard,
that the force of innocence would prevail even with his en