Wild's figure. Wild in my presence! He's the right-hand of the community! We could do nothing without him!" "We!" repeated Wood, significantly. And rather unscrupulous. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. 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. I understand. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour.
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