The Angel of the Revolution | Page 8

was anywhere
but in his own shabby room in Southwark, and the rest was made clear
by Colston saying --
"Well, comrade Arnold, Lord High Admiral of the Air, how have you
slept? I hope you found the sofa big and soft enough, and that the last
cigar has left no evil effects behind it."
"Eh? Oh, good morning! I don't know whether it was the whisky or the
cigars, or what it was; but do you know I have been dreaming all sorts
of absurd things about battles in the air and dropping explosives on
fortresses and turning them into small volcanoes. When you came in
just now I hadn't the remotest idea where I was. It's time to get up, I
suppose?"
"Yes, it's after eight a good bit. I've had my tub, so the bath-room is at
your service. Meanwhile, Burrows will be laying the table for breakfast.
When you have finished your tub, come into my dressing-room, and let
me rig you out. We are about of a size, and I think I shall be able to
meet your most fastidious taste. In fact, I could rig you out as anything
-- from a tramp to an officer of the Guards."
"It wouldn't take much change to accomplish the former, I'm afraid. But,
really, I couldn't think of trespassing so far on your hospitality as to
take your very clothes from you. I'm deep enough in your debt
already."
"Don't talk nonsense, Richard Arnold. The tone in which those last

words were said shows me that you have not duly laid to heart what I
said last night. There is no such thing as private property in the
Brotherhood, of which I hope, by this time to-morrow, you will be an
initiate.
"What I have here is mine only for the purposes of the Cause,
wherefore it is as much yours as mine, for to-day we are going on the
Brotherhood's business. Why, then, should you have any scruples about
wearing the Brotherhood's clothes? Now clear out and get tubbed, and
wash some of those absurd ideas out of your head."
"Well, as you put it that way, I don't mind, only remember that I don't
necessarily put on the principles of the Brotherhood with its clothes."
So saying, Arnold got up from the sofa, stretched himself, and went off
to make his toilet.
When he sat down to breakfast with his host half an hour later, very
few who had seen him on the Embankment the night before would have
recognised him as the same man. The tailor after all, does a good deal
to make the man, externally at least, and the change of clothes in
Arnold's case had transformed him from a superior looking tramp into
an aristocratic and decidedly good-looking man, in the prime of his
youth, saving only for the thinness and pallor of his face, and a
perceptible stoop in the shoulders.
During breakfast they chatted about their plans for the day and then
drifted into generalities, chiefly of a political nature.
The better Arnold came to know Maurice Colston the more remarkable
his character appeared to him; and it was his growing wonder at the
contradictions that it exhibited that made him say towards the end of
the meal--
"I must say you're a queer sort of conspirator, Colston. My idea of
Nihilists and members of revolutionary societies has always taken the
form of silent, stealthy, cautious beings, with a lively distrust and
hatred of the whole human race outside their own circles. And yet here

are you, an active member of the most terrible secret society in
existence, pledged to the destruction of nearly every institution on earth,
and carrying your life in your hand, opening your heart like a
schoolboy to a man you have literally not known for twenty-four hours.
"Suppose you had made a mistake in me. What would there be to
prevent me telling the police who you are, and having you locked up
with a view to extradition to Russia?"
"In the first place," replied Colston quietly, "you would not do so,
because I am not mistaken in you, and because, in your heart, whether
you fully know it or not, you believe as I do about the destruction that
is about to fall upon Society.
"In the second place, if you did betray my confidence, I should be able
to bring such an overwhelming array of the most respectable evidence
to show that I was nothing like what I really am, that you would be
laughed at for a madman; and, in the third place, there would be an
inquest on you within twenty-four hours after you had told your story.
Do you remember the death of Inspector Ainsworth, of the Criminal
Investigation Department,