wonder whether one might not pay too high a price for the advantages of
party government. Belturbet, questing round in the hope of finding the
originator of the trouble, with a vague idea of being able to induce
him to restore matters to their normal human footing, came across an
elderly club acquaintance who dabbled extensively in some of the more
sensitive market securities. He was pale with indignation, and his
pallor deepened as a breathless newsboy dashed past with a poster
inscribed: "Premier's constituency harried by moss-troopers. Halfour
sends encouraging telegram to rioters. Letchworth Garden City
threatens reprisals. Foreigners taking refuge in Embassies and
National Liberal Club."

"This is devils' work!" he said angrily.

Belturbet knew otherwise.

At the bottom of St. James's Street a newspaper motor-cart, which had
just come rapidly along Pall Mall, was surrounded by a knot of eagerly
talking people, and for the first time that afternoon Belturbet heard
expressions of relief and congratulation.

It displayed a placard with the welcome announcement: "Crisis ended.
Government gives way. Important expansion of naval programme."

There seemed to be no immediate necessity for pursuing the quest of the
errant Duke, and Belturbet turned to make his way homeward through St.
James's Park. His mind, attuned to the alarums and excursions of the
afternoon, became dimly aware that some excitement of a detached nature
was going on around him. In spite of the political ferment which
reigned in the streets, quite a large crowd had gathered to watch the
unfolding of a tragedy that had taken place on the shore of the
ornamental water. A large black swan, which had recently shown signs
of a savage and dangerous disposition, had suddenly attacked a young
gentleman who was walking by the water's edge, dragged him down under
the surface, and drowned him before anyone could come to his
assistance. At the moment when Belturbet arrived on the spot several
park-keepers were engaged in lifting the corpse into a punt. Belturbet
stooped to pick up a hat that lay near the scene of the struggle. It
was a smart soft felt hat, faintly reminiscent of Houbigant.

More than a month elapsed before Belturbet had sufficiently recovered
from his attack of nervous prostration to take an interest once more in
what was going on in the world of politics. The Parliamentary Session
was still in full swing, and a General Election was