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Her thought spoke aloud. “Never—but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape,” Ennison exclaimed. 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. He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself. "Your detective has been remiss in his duty; let him suffer for it. Shari smiled and Mike whispered to her. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. "Then you ought to be thankful to me for the warning.
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