enthusiasm.
“Don’t blame me if it explodes in my face,” he warned.
“Of course I shan’t. But let’s go down with a real battle.” She leaned forward and caught hold of his hand where it lay on the table. “Let’s go in with all flags flying and all guns firing.”
“I may have to retire to the country afterwards.”
“Afterwards, perhaps,” she conceded. “But not before.”
Jack contrived the opportunity the next day. Uttley was addressing a considerable crowd at Hyde Park Corner and Jack sauntered up, Emily on his arm. People were drawing closer from all directions, many with pies, sandwiches or peppermint drinks in their hands. The Punch and Judy man abandoned his stall, knowing the real drama was more fun any day. A nursemaid with a perambulator slowed her step and a newsboy and an urchin sweeping the crossing both ceased their shouting and listened.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Uttley began, although the address to ladies was purely a courtesy. No women could vote, so their opinion was superfluous. “Ladies and gentlemen! We are at a crossroads in the life of our great city. It is up to you to decide which way you wish to go. Do you like it as it is, or do you want something better?” He was dressed in a dark coat, double-breasted and with silk lapels, and lighter striped trousers. The sunlight gleamed on his browned face and fair hair.
“Better!” yelled at least a dozen voices.
“Of course you do,” he agreed with enthusiasm. “You want
“How’s he going to manage the money?” Emily whispered to Jack. “Ask him.”
“No point,” he whispered back. “The poor don’t have votes anyway.”
Emily gave a grunt of irritation.
“Never mind the street!”
“What about the parks?” a fat man in a coster’s apron called out. “Can we walk them in safety too?”
There was a bellow of laughter from the crowd and someone whistled.
“Not now!” Uttley looked at him. “Not now, my friend. But you ought to be able to—if the police were doing their job!”
There were one or two cries of agreement.
“Do you want patrols in the park?” Jack asked loudly.
“Good idea, Mr. Radley,” Uttley answered, pointing his finger at him to draw everyone’s attention. “Why didn’t you say that in your last address? You didn’t, you know—not a word!”
Everyone turned to stare at Jack.
Jack surveyed the faces now looking at him.
“Do you want police patrols through the park?” he asked innocently.
“Yeah!” a couple called out, but most were silent. No one spoke against.
“What should they do?” Jack pursued. “Stop you—ask you what your business is? Who it is you are with?” There was a rumble of denial.
“Search you for weapons?” he went on. “Take your name and address?”
“How about stop you from being attacked, robbed or murdered?” Uttley asked. The crowd gave a shout of approval and then a quick burst of laughter.
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that,” Jack said, still with bland innocence. “Follow you. Of course. And then when someone approaches, they should come close enough to prevent any sudden blow or lunge. And if the person should prove to be merely an acquaintance …” He stopped amid a few murmurs of anger and glowing faces. “Oh no—that wouldn’t do—because we don’t know that it wasn’t an acquaintance that killed Captain Winthrop and Mr. Arledge. Whoever it is, the policemen had better remain close enough to intervene if it should seem necessary.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Uttley began, but he was drowned out by catcalls and laughter.
“Wouldn’t that require an awful lot of policemen?” Jack asked. “In fact, roughly one each for every person who wanted to take a stroll. Perhaps we should call up the police station and wait for an escort. It would be terribly expensive. Taxes would double or triple.”
There were calls of disapproval and derision, and one man laughed uproariously.
“This is ridiculous!” Uttley shouted above the melee. “You have reduced it to an absurdity! There are perfectly sensible ways of doing it.”
“Then tell us,” Jack invited him, holding his hands wide.
“Yeah,” the crowd called, turning their faces from one to the other. “Go on—tell us!”
Uttley struggled to define them, but it became obvious he had thought only in generalities, and when it came to a specific solution he could not name one. The crowd whistled and catcalled, and Jack had no need to aid in his rival’s undoing. Eventually, red-faced and furious, Uttley turned on him.
“What will you do that’s better, Radley? Give us your answer!”
As one the crowd swiveled to look at Jack, their eyes keen, their jeering as ready to strip him.
“I blame the Irish!” one woman called out, her face red with fury. “That’s who it is—you’ll see!”
