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Updated: May 7, 2025
"What tune would you prefer?" he asked Platterbaff. "The popular song of the moment," replied the Agitator after a moment's reflection. It was a tune they had all heard hundreds of times, so there was no difficulty in turning out a passable imitation of it. To the improvised strains of "I didn't want to do it" the prisoner strode forth to freedom.
The Chief Organiser rang off. "This is not a moment for standing on dignity," he observed bluntly; "musicians must be supplied at once. Platterbaff must have his band." "Where are you going to find the musicians?" asked the Home Secretary wearily; "we can't employ a military band, in fact, I don't think he'd have one if we offered it, and there ain't any others.
The day after the trial there was to be a by-election at Nemesis-on-Hand, and it had been openly announced in the division that if Platterbaff were languishing in gaol on polling day the Government candidate would be "outed" to a certainty. Unfortunately, there could be no doubt or misconception as to Platterbaff's guilt.
The word of the song had reference, it was understood, to the incarcerating Government and not to the destroyer of the Albert Hall. The seat was lost, after all, by a narrow majority. The local Trade Unionists took offence at the fact of Cabinet Ministers having personally acted as strike-breakers, and even the release of Platterbaff failed to pacify them.
"His supporters say it is up to us to provide the music," said the Home Secretary; "they say we put him in prison, and it's our affair to see that he leaves it in a respectable manner. Anyway, he won't go unless he has a band." The telephone squealed shrilly; it was a trunk call from Nemesis. "Poll opens in five minutes. Is Platterbaff out yet? In Heaven's name, why "
"Not later than seven-thirty, then," said the Chief Organiser; "I have promised the agent down there that he shall be able to display posters announcing 'Platterbaff is Out, before the poll opens. He said it was our only chance of getting a telegram 'Radprop is In' to-night."
"Losing twenty votes per minute," was its brief message. Ten o'clock struck. The Prime Minister, the Home Secretary, the Chief Organiser, and several earnest helpful friends were gathered in the inner gateway of the prison, talking volubly to Demosthenes Platterbaff, who stood with folded arms and squarely planted feet, silent in their midst.
Demosthenes Platterbaff, the eminent Unrest Inducer, stood on his trial for a serious offence, and the eyes of the political world were focussed on the jury. The offence, it should be stated, was serious for the Government rather than for the prisoner.
At half-past seven the next morning the Prime Minister and the Chief Organiser sat at breakfast, making a perfunctory meal, and awaiting the return of the Home Secretary, who had gone in person to superintend the releasing of Platterbaff.
He had blown up the Albert Hall on the eve of the great Liberal Federation Tango Tea, the occasion on which the Chancellor of the Exchequer was expected to propound his new theory: "Do partridges spread infectious diseases?" Platterbaff had chosen his time well; the Tango Tea had been hurriedly postponed, but there were other political fixtures which could not be put off under any circumstances.
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