The Ape Who Guards the Balance Read Free Page A

The only individual I recognized was Mrs. Pankhurst, who brought up the rear.
    They slowed their inexorable advance for neither constable nor sympathizer; I was forced to skip nimbly out of their way as they trotted past. Christabel, her face flushed with excitement, cried, “Now,” as the marchers surrounded the astonished constable to the left of the gates. I heard a thump and a yelp, as one of the wooden placards landed on his helmeted head.
    His companion shouted, “ ’Ere now,” and started to the defense of his friend. Ramses stepped in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I beg you will remain where you are, Mr. Jenkins,” he said in a kindly voice.
    “Oh, now, Mr. Emerson, don’t you do this!” the officer exclaimed piteously.
    “You two are acquainted?” I inquired. I was not surprised. Ramses has quite a number of unusual acquaintances. Police officers are more respectable than certain of the others.
    “Yes,” said Ramses. “How is your little boy, Jenkins?”
    His voice was affable, his pose casual, but the unfortunate constable was gradually being pushed back against the railing. Knowing Ramses could manage quite nicely by himself, I turned to see if the ladies required my assistance in “restraining” the other constable.
    The man was flat on the ground, tugging at the helmet which had been pushed over his eyes, and the gate had yielded to the impetuous advance of the delegation. Led by the two large ladies and the poetically garbed gentleman, it reached the door of the house.
    I could not but admire the strategy, and the military precision with which it had been carried out, but I doubted the delegation would get any farther. Already the sound of police whistles rent the air; running feet and cries of “Now, then, what’s all this?” betokened the arrival of reinforcements. Mrs. Markham had prevaricated or had been deceived; if Romer had agreed to receive a petition, this forceful stratagem would not have been necessary. The door of the mansion would surely be locked, and Romer was not likely to allow his butler to open it.
    Even as this thought entered my mind, the portal opened. I caught a glimpse of a pale, astonished face which I took to be that of the butler before it was hidden by the invading forces. They pushed their way in, and the door slammed behind them.
    Outside on the street, matters were not going so well. Half a dozen uniformed men had gone to the rescue of their beleaguered colleague. Laying rough hands upon the ladies, they pulled them away and actually threw several to the ground. With a cry of indignation I raised my parasol and would have rushed forward had I not been seized in a respectful but firm grasp.
    “Ramses, let go of me this instant,” I gasped.
    “Wait, Mother—I promised Father—” He extended one foot and the constable who had been coming up behind me toppled forward with a startled exclamation.
    “Oh, you promised your father, did you? Curse it,” I cried. But frustration and the compression of my ribs by the arm of my son prevented further utterance.
    The constable Ramses had tripped got slowly to his feet. “Bleedin’ ’ell,” he remarked. “So it’s you, Mr. Emerson? I didn’t recognize you in that fancy getup.”
    “Look after my mother, will you, Mr. Skuggins?” Releasing me, Ramses began picking up prostrate ladies. “Really, gentlemen,” he said, in tones of freezing disapproval, “this is no way for Englishmen to behave. Shame!”
    A temporary lull ensued. The men in blue shuffled their feet and looked sheepish, while the ladies straightened their garments and looked daggers at the constables. I was surprised to see Mrs. Pankhurst and her daughter, for I had assumed they had entered the house with the other leaders of the delegation.
    Then one of the police officers cleared his throat. “That’s all very well, Mr. Emerson, sir, but wot about Mr. Romer? Those there ladies forced their way in—”
    “An unwarranted