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The Head listened to the amateur detective's statement with interest. "Indeed?" he said, when Mr. Downing had finished, "Indeed? Dear me! It certainly seems ... It is a curiously well-connected thread of evidence. You are certain that there was red paint on this shoe you discovered in Mr. Outwood's house?" "I have it with me. I brought it on purpose to show to you. Smith!" "Sir?"
"What is that noise?" shrilled Mr. Downing. "Noise, sir?" asked Mike, puzzled. "I think it's something outside the window, sir," said Stone helpfully. "A bird, I think, sir," said Robinson. "Don't be absurd!" snapped Mr. Downing. "It's outside the door. Wilson!" "Yes, sir?" said a voice "off." "Are you making that whining noise?" "Whining noise, sir? No, sir, I'm not making a whining noise."
How can you expect that a steady personage in practical life, whose mornings are spent in Downing Street, and whose nights are consumed in watching Government bills through a committee, can write in the same style as an idle dreamer amidst the pines of Ravenna, or on the banks of Como?
S. H. Gatty, is, from what has appeared in the Trinidad papers, doing his "level best" to render abortive. Sir Sanford Freeling, by the will and pleasure of Downing Street, was the next successor, after Governor Irving, to the chief ruler-ship of Trinidad. Incredible as it may sound, he was a yet more disadvantageous bargain for the Colony's £4000 a year.
In connection with landscape-gardening, one American name stands conspicuous, the name of one who, if not, in point of time, the first teacher of the art in this country, has at least done more than any other to direct attention to it, to exhibit defects, suggest improvements, create beauties, and invest his subject with such a charm and interest as to captivate many minds which might otherwise have been long insensible to the dormant beauty within their reach, or that which they themselves had the power to produce: we refer, of course, to the late Andrew J. Downing.
And the dislike deepens if it is a house which he favors and not merely individuals. On occasions when boys in his own house and boys from other houses were accomplices and partners in wrongdoing, Mr. Downing distributed his thunderbolts unequally, and the school noticed it.
"I had a few lessons in a riding-school," he replied, modestly. Young Downing approached the girl with a low-voiced protest: "You oughtn't to ride old Paint. He nearly pitched the Supervisor the other day." "I'm not worried," she said, and swung to her saddle. The ugly beast made off in a tearing sidewise rush, but she smilingly called back: "All set." And Norcross followed her in high admiration.
He had come up yesterday from the country, where he had put in a week at grouse hunting with his brother, Sir Lucas Chutney, and today he intended bidding good-by to old friends, and, to attend to the making of a few purchases. Downing Street is not far away, and presently the cab rolls into Whitehall and draws up before the big granite building.
There were innumerable courts and alleys opening out of King Street. On the west, south of Downing Street, were Axe Yard, Sea Alley, Bell Yard, Antelope Alley. Gardener's Lane ran parallel with Charles Street; here Hollar the engraver died in extreme poverty in 1677. At the north end of King Street stood a second gate, called the King's Gate, and sometimes the Cockpit Gate.
The reader may properly wonder to find the figure of Lord Leverhulme brought before the mirrors of Downing Street. But let me explain why I introduce this industrial Triton into the society of our political minnows. Lord Leverhulme rejected politics only when politics rejected him. He is of that distinguished company to whom the House of Commons has turned both a deaf ear and a cold shoulder.
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