“At least,” he declared, as he looked into Maraton’s face, “whatever the world may think of the justice of their cause, no one will ever any longer deny the might of the people.”

“None but fools ever did deny it,” Maraton answered.

“How are they in the north?” Ernshaw asked.

“United and confident,” Maraton assured him.  “Up there I don’t think they realise the position so much as here.  In Nottingham and Leicester, people are leading their usual daily lives.  It was only as we neared London that one began to understand.”

“London is paralysed with fear,” Ernshaw asserted, “perhaps with reason.  The Government are working the telephones and telegraph to a very small extent.  The army engineers are doing the best they can with the East Coast railways.”

“What about Dale and his friends?”

Ernshaw’s dark, sallow face was lit with triumph.

“They are flustered to death like a lot of rabbits in the middle of a cornfield, with the reapers at work’!” he exclaimed.  “Heckled and terrified to’ death!  Cecil was at them the other night.  ‘Are you not,’ he cried, ‘the representatives of the people?’ Wilmott was in the House—­one of us—­treasurer for the Amalgamated Society, and while Dale was hesitating, he sprang up.  ‘Before God, no!’ he answered.  ’There isn’t a Labour Member in this House who stands for more than the constituency he represents, or is here for more than the salary he draws.  The cause of the people is in safer hands.’  Then they called for you.  There have been questions about your whereabouts every day.  They wanted to impeach you for high treason.  Through all the storm, Foley is the only man who has kept quiet.  He sent for me.  I referred him to you.”

“The time for conferences is past,” Maraton said firmly.

“We know it,” Ernshaw replied.  “What’s the good of them?  A sop for the men, a pat on the back for their leaders, a buttering Press, and a public who cares only how much or how little they are inconvenienced.  We have had enough of that.  My men must wake into a new life, or sleep for ever.”

“What is the foreign news?” Maraton asked.

“All uncertain.  The air is full of rumours.  Several Atlantic liners are late, and reports have come by wireless of a number of strange cruisers off Queenstown.  Personally, I don’t think that anything definite has been done.  The moment to strike isn’t yet.  The Admiralty have been working like slaves to get coal to their fleet.”

“You came alone?” Maraton enquired.

Ernshaw nodded.

“I came alone because the seven of us are as men with one heart.  We are with you into hell!”

“And the men,” Maraton continued,—­“I wonder how many of them realise what they may have to go through.”