Moriarty handed me a cobblestone and pointed.
I threw the stone at the gawking copper, and fetched off his helmet. I'd once brought down a Bengal tiger with a cricket-ball in exactly the same manner.
Then, the mob rose and rushed the Embassy. Moriarty hooked me with an umbrella-handle and we milled in with the crowd.
The front doors caved, and the first rush of intruders slid about on the polished marble foyer floor like drunken skaters. Three guards tried to unscabbard sabres, but the Comanch' set about stripping them � and the environs � of anything redeemable. Pawnshop windows would soon display cuirasses, plumed helms and other items stamped with the Elphberg Seal.
Sapt poked his head out of his door. Moriarty signalled. A couple of bruisers laid hands on the Secret Police Chief.
The Professor sidled next to the anarchist with the biggest beard and suggested he draw up a list of demands, phrasing it so the fellow would think the whole thing was his idea.
Sapt looked about furiously, moustaches twitching. Dirty hands held him fast.
A bunch of keys rattled on Sapt's belt. Moriarty pointed them out, and an urchin brushed past, deftly relieving Sapt of the keys.
"Give him a taste of what the cannon girls get,' I shouted.
We left the mob happily shoving the Secret Policeman feet-first up the nearest chimney. The anarchist had posted look-outs at the doors, and was waving an ancient revolver at the still-surprised constables.
"You can't rush us," said Comrade Beard. "This Ruritanian territory is claimed by the Free Citizens' Committee of Strelsauer Altstadt. Any action against us will be interpreted as a British invasion."
The average London crusher10 isn't qualified to cope with an argument like that. So they bullied someone into making them tea, and told the anarchist to hang fire until someone from the foreign office turned up. In return, Beard promised not to garotte any hostages just yet.
Sapt, it appeared, had got stuck.
With all this going on, it was a simple matter to slip into Sapt's private office, take down the portrait and open the safe. It contained a thick, sealed packet � and, disappointingly, no cash box or surplus crown jewels. Moriarty handed me the goods, and looked about, brows knit in mild puzzlement.
"What? Too easy?"
"No, Moran. It's just as I foresaw."
He locked the safe again.
There was a clatter of carriages and boots outside. Boscobel Place was full of eager fellows in uniform.
"They've called out the troops."
"Time to leave," said the Professor.
Back in the foyer, Moriarty gave the nod. Our Comanch' confederates left off pilfering and detached themselves from those still intent on making a political point.
Sapt had fallen head-first out of the chimney, blacked like a minstrel. The Professor arranged the surreptitious return of his keys.
We left the building as we came, through the front door.
The Comanch' melted into another crowd.
As often, Moriarty had contrived not to be noticed. Like those lizards who can blend into greenery, he had the knack of seeming like a forgettable clergyman or a nondescript tutor, someone who has got off the omnibus two stops early and wandered into a bloodbath which was none of his doing.
We strolled away from the battle. Shouts, shots, thumps, crashes and bells sounded. Nothing to do with us.
A cab waited on the corner.
