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satanic look. ‘There are a hundred thousand lonely men in London—go out then, wait till some strong, healthy-looking blighter tries to pick you up—be coy if you like, but grab him. Then, once you get down to brass tacks, throw your inhibitions overboard; men always fall for that because it’s rare in Anglo-Saxon countries. He’ll ask you to meet him again—certain to, and when you do—don’t look at his Adam’s apple, gaze into his eyes and tell him he’s a new Sir Galahad! Then with any luck the poor fish will get all sentimental, and you will at least have secured someone to fend for you in the trouble that is coming to us all.’
    â€˜You filthy beast!’ Griselda sprang to her feet, and rushed from the room in a futile endeavour to hide the tears which welled up in her small tired eyes.
    â€˜Gregory, you are a cad.’ Ann flung a half-smoked cigarette into the grate, and gave him an angry look beneath half-closed lids.
    He swung upon her quickly, his shoulders hunched, his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets.
    â€˜Why?—don’t be silly, Ann. God knows who’d look at her, but some fool would. There are lonely men—lots of them, and her one asset is that she’s a young healthy woman, but of course she hasn’t got the guts to do it. She’s the stupid, inefficient sort who go under in every war and revolution.’
    Ann’s eyes fell before his glance. ‘What is the latest, Gregory?—are things getting very bad?’
    â€˜Glasgow is under Martial Law. The troops were compelled to fire on the rioters last night. There were seven killed and sixty wounded. In Hull, during the early hours of this morning, an organised raid was made on the principal banks; a number of police were injured, the safes were dynamited and the contents carried off in fast cars. It is said to be the work of international crooks who are taking advantage of the disturbances. In a village of the Merthyr valley an income-tax collector was pulled out of bed at four in the morning, saturated in petrol, and then set on fire; he was burnt to death while the crowd cheered as if it had been Guy Fawkes’ night. The crews on some of our biggest ships are giving trouble because it is the leave season, and all leave has been cancelled. Three pawnbrokers—Jews, of course—were dragged from their shops and kicked to death in the East End this afternoon. Troops are being moved into the dock areas now, because they fear rioting here tonight.’ Sallust paused, and then added cynically: ‘Want any more of the gory details?’
    She shivered slightly. ‘No! it’s all too horrible—but do you really think the whole system is breaking up?’
    â€˜I don’t think—I
know,
’ he laughed harshly, as he crushed out the butt of his cigarette. ‘I’ve been watching events for months and it’s only a question of days now. There is not a single strong man in the whole of the Government—and this time next week the people will be fighting for food in every town in England.’
    â€˜What do you mean to do?’ she asked him curiously.
    â€˜I,’ he shrugged; ‘oh, don’t worry your little head about me. The traditional bad man of the party may get killed in the play, or in that poor boob Pomfret’s novels—but not in real life. Luckily, I’m not handicapped by any illusions or scruples, and so, my dear—I shall come through; a little drunk perhaps on looted gin, but otherwise unscathed. The thing is—what about you?’
    â€˜I … I hadn’t realised that things were quite so desperate,’ Ann confessed.
    â€˜Well, you’ll survive—you’re too damned good-looking for anyone to want to do you in. But you’ll have to pay the price unless you slip off now. What about those people of yours in Suffolk?—I should get out if I were you while the