CHAPTER XXVI

THE CAPTURE OF THE JUDGES

The weather had suddenly turned to bitter cold, and, in spite of prevailing alarms, every one had something more or less obvious to say on the unfailing subject. Disaster may impend, kingdoms may totter to their fall, but through all the steadfast Briton harps on the text of the barometer. “Dry and much colder; freshening north-easterly wind,” was the record of the morning, and the afternoon abundantly confirmed its truth. His Majesty’s judges, for the most part elderly gentlemen, and necessarily leading sedentary lives, felt, and liked not, the eager, nipping air. They reached the Law Courts in the dusk of the afternoon for their projected conference, feeling not a little ill-used that, on Christmas Eve of all days in the year, such a conference should be needed.

Most of them drove by roundabout routes to the judges’ entrance in Carey Street; others deemed it safer to approach on foot, and entered the great building either east or west, from Bell Yard, or Clement’s Inn. None but the police were using the great main entrance in the Strand, which had been closed and strongly guarded ever since the rising of the Courts for the vacation. The street scenes of the past few days, and the threatening conduct of the people towards those who drove in private carriages or motors, had produced a notable effect upon the traffic. Many of the omnibuses had been taken off the streets. Numbers of the cabmen, long discontented with their lot, had joined the Leaguers, and people who did hire a hansom or four-wheeler had to submit to what the driver considered the fare should be in the special circumstances of the moment. But the Strand, like other main thoroughfares, was thronged with foot passengers, roadway as well as pavement, and any sort of wheeled traffic could only be carried on under slow and apologetic conditions. All of which tended to prevent punctuality on the part of the functionaries of the law, and to increase their sense of hardship and uneasiness. The Law had so long ridden rough-shod over the people, that it seemed especially surprising that things were taking such a different turn.

By a quarter past four, however, all but three of the judges and magistrates and Sir Robert Hill, Chief Commissioner of Police, had arrived, and in the big room selected for the discussion, scattered groups stood in earnest conversation on the urgent questions of the hour.

It was a memorable gathering. The Master of the Rolls was supported by all the Lords Justices of the Court of Appeal. The Lord Chief Justice had as his judicial satellites a dozen judges of the King’s Bench Division--all, in fact, save those who were incapacitated by serious illness. Both the Judges of the Probate, Divorce, and Admiralty Division were present, and also those important but lesser lights of the law, the three City judges, and the Chairmen and deputy-Chairmen of Sessions for the Counties of London and Middlesex. The Lord Mayor had been invited to attend, but a serious nervous disorder from which he had suffered ever since the riotous scenes at the Mansion House on the tenth of November, made his presence impossible. Twenty of the stipendiary magistrates from the Metropolitan Police Courts had come in obedience to the summons, two having recently died, and the others being confined to their beds through illness.

Sir John Westwood, who was known to have been suffering from insomnia, stood, haggard and silent, by one of the windows, while Lord Malvern expounded to him and a few others his personal views as to the drastic measures required to meet the crisis. His lordship was of opinion that the King, who unfortunately still lay ill at Windsor Castle, should be advised to summon a special session of Parliament for the purpose of passing an Act for the suppression of the League, after the precedent adopted many years earlier in dealing with the Land League in Ireland.

“I doubt whether we want more legislation, my lord,” said Westwood. “But we do need a stronger executive.”

“I agree with Sir John,” said one of the group--Mr Justice Wigham, a man of downright type and resolute manner. “The plain fact is that the civil power has broken down. When that happens order can only be restored by the military arm.”

“Hear, hear!” chimed in several; for the group was now growing larger.

“Kitchener would be the man, if he were back from India,” said the Master of the Rolls.

“He is back, my lord; he arrived yesterday; but he’s ill,” said the Solicitor-General.

“Everybody’s ill,” observed Mr Justice Barling. “Illness has its advantages at the present time. I think I shall be ill myself.” The pleasantry was received with coldness.

The learned judge was known to be a judicial joker of an inveterate type, but his brethren of the bench considered there was a “time for all things.” Similarly, Mr Harrowden, the well-known merrymaker of the magisterial bench, talking to some colleagues at the other end of the room, received no encouragement when he essayed to launch a little witticism and support it with a laugh.

“Order, order!” exclaimed the Chief Justice, raising his voice. “This is quite unseemly.”

“My brother Barling shouldn’t set such a bad example,” whispered Mr Justice Hartmill to his neighbour.

“Things are pretty bad, but I suppose you know there is a possibility of something worse behind?” The speaker was Sir Gwilliam Ranthorn, a well-known judge, amongst whose excellent qualities a discreet reticence could not be numbered. “I had it on excellent authority,” said his lordship.

“Had what?” asked some one.

“Why, Germany is working at the wires, as usual. All this domestic disorder in England is being utilised abroad. Don’t be surprised at anything you hear within the next few days.” He nodded wisely.

“Of course we’ve all heard rumours,” said Sir George Wigham, rather bluntly. “But even if they mean war, England can’t be attacked without some reasonable pretext.”

“A pretext, if you like, but not necessarily a reasonable one,” returned Sir Gwilliam, warmly. “When will their army be stronger; and hasn’t the Kaiser got all the ships he wanted while we’ve been twiddling our thumbs?”

“That is not the worst of it,” chimed in Sir Borrall Carnes, who, as President of the Admiralty Division, knew more about shipping and seamen than all the rest. “German seamen swarm in our mercantile marine, and German pilots can do as they please with hundreds upon hundreds of British vessels.”

“It’s monstrous! It’s madness!” declared Sir Gwilliam.

“Yes, yes,” assented the Chief Justice. “I am disposed to endorse all you say. But that’s the business of the Admiralty and the Board of Trade. We, as guardians of civil order, and bound to preserve the King’s peace, must confine ourselves to our proper functions.”

As his lordship ended, the electric light went out, and loud exclamations were followed by a curious silence, broken in a moment by the voice of Mr Justice Barling. “Why are his Majesty’s judges like the heathen?” he was asking. From a shadowed corner came the prompt reply of Mr Harrowden: “Because they sit in darkness.”

“Lights, please; lights of some sort,” demanded Lord Malvern, testily.

Alert attendants soon procured them--lamps and candles, always in readiness for an emergency, were brought in and placed on the great baize-covered table. At a sign from the Chief Justice there was a general move to the surrounding chairs.

“The business of the meeting must not be delayed any longer,” said his lordship, looking round before he took the presidential chair. “Probably all who were summoned are now present?”

“All but Sir Robert Hill,” said an attendant, who had checked the arrivals at the door.

“It is very desirable that the Chief Commissioner should be here,” remarked the Master of the Rolls.

A knock came on the door, and the attendant, opening it, had a whispered conversation with some one who could not be seen from the table. The attendant looked round: “My lord, Major Rollin, one of the Assistant Commissioners, is here.”

“Let him come in,” said the Chief Justice, dropping wearily into his chair.

The Assistant Commissioner advanced into the room, and it was noticed by all that, though self-possessed, he was extremely pale.

“I regret to say, my lord, that Sir Robert cannot possibly be here.” The judges exchanged glances. Major Rollin hesitated a moment, and then continued: “The fact is, we have had a very urgent message over the wires from Windsor. A large demonstration of the Leaguers is being organised near the Castle, and every man that we can spare must be despatched there. The Chief Commissioner is now making the necessary arrangements. Your lordship will perhaps excuse me?”

The Assistant Commissioner bowed and was gone almost before his hearers realised to the full the ominous information he had given them.

At that moment the telephone bell began to ring. The face of the attendant, as he listened to the message, was watched by all with some anxiety.

“Well?” demanded Sir Gwilliam. “What is the message?”

“Apparently from the Home Office, my lord--One moment. Yes?”--listening--” Very well.” Then turning towards the table: “They wish to communicate with the Lord Chief Justice.”

Lord Malvern rose at once and went across to the instrument. “Well, what is it? Yes--I am Lord Malvern. What? Now--immediately?” The hum and buzz of the machine continued, ringing the changes of question and answer in the usual fashion. Then his lordship came back to the table, looking very grave.

“Matters of great urgency have arisen, and our presence is desired immediately to confer with the Lord Chancellor and the Home Secretary, who are busily engaged on affairs of State. I am to request all who are here to accompany me at once.”

“Where?--to Downing Street or Whitehall?” asked several voices.

“To the House of Lords--the Home Secretary is there with the Chancellor at this moment.”

“Westminster!--easier said than done,” murmured one of the judges.

The telephone bell rang out again, and once more the Chief Justice hurried to the instrument and listened. “Yes, I hear. Do you say at the Temple Pier? What vessel?--the _John Milton_? Yes.”

He turned to his anxious colleagues. “It is considered unsafe and impracticable to drive to Westminster, but a paddle-steamer--the _John Milton_--has been sent to the Temple Pier to convey us to Westminster. Come, gentlemen, we are the servants of the State and there is no time to lose.”

And no time was lost. All rose from their seats, pushing the chairs back in noisy haste. Very few of those present had taken off their overcoats, owing to the coldness of the room. Hasty messages were given to the attendants for the coachmen who were waiting in Carey Street, and in a few minutes, split up into small parties, the whole judicial company emerged by various doors on the Clement’s Inn side of the building. They hurried across the crowded, turbulent Strand, with a few constables acting as an escort, and made their way, some _via_ Essex Street, and others through Arundel Street, to the Temple Pier. A cutting wind greeted them on the Embankment, and scattered snowflakes heralded a coming storm.

The hiss of the escaping steam was heard, and the masthead light, with here and there a lantern on the decks, showed them the outline of the _John Milton_, lying alongside the pier, her bow towards Westminster.

“I thought the County Council had sold the _Milton_.”

“Well, here she is, and the sooner we’re on board and out of this the better,” said one of the magistrates as they hurried down the steps.

The captain was already on the bridge, and one of his great earrings gleamed in the faint light of a lantern. “All below, please,” he called out sharply.

One of the seamen led the way to the saloon, and in a few moments the complement of passengers was completed. The rattle of the movable gangway was heard, as the men upon the pier withdrew it; then, as the paddle wheels slowly began to revolve, the taut ropes strained and throbbed ere they were thrown loose. The doors of the saloon were closed.

“Prisoners for the first time in our lives. They’ve turned the tables!” ventured Mr Justice Barling, but no one took any notice of the joke. The sway of the steamer and churning of the water told them that she was clear of the landing stage. But presently looks of inquiry and surprise were exchanged amongst the passengers. “By Jove! Westwood,” said one of them, “they’ve put the boat about!”

Sir John Westwood rushed to the doors of the saloon and tried to open them. The doors were locked and barred.

“Great Scott! we’re heading for London Bridge!” exclaimed some one else. “What does it mean?”

They made a dash to the portholes and tried to open them; but they were fixed and firm.

The clang of a well-known signal from bridge to engine-room reached their ears. “_That_ means ’full speed ahead!’” said the last speaker; and they stood aghast and helpless as the _John Milton_ raced down the river towards the open sea.

* * * * *

At his window, overlooking the Embankment, Marcus White was watching. A grim smile played across his features as the lights of the steamer rushed eastward, and soon were lost to view in the black and bitter night.