Sir Richard Blunt made a slight kind of bow in acknowledgment of the
compliment to his tact, and then, while what we may call the main body
waited under the arch of Temple Bar, he advanced alone into Fleet
Street. After advancing for a short distance, he took from his pocket a
small silver whistle, and produced upon it a peculiar thrilling note. In
a moment a tall man, with a great coat on him, merged from behind a
column that lent its support to a door-way. "Here you is," said the man. "Is all right, Crotchet?" said Sir Richard. "Yes; everything is quiet enough. Not a blessed mouse hasn't wagged his
tail or smoothened his whiskers for the last half hour or so." "Very good, Crotchet. I'm afraid, though, I cannot dismiss you just yet,
as the business is very important." "What's the odds," said Crotchet, "as long as you are happy?" Sir Richard Blunt smiled, as he added--

"Well, Crotchet, you deserve, and you shall have an ample reward for the
services you are doing and have done, in this affair. I and some
gentlemen will go into the church, and I wish you to remain at the
porch, and if you find occasion to give any warning, I think your
whistle will be quite shrill enough to reach my ears." "Not a doubt on it, Sir Richard. If what they calls the last trumpet is
only half as loud as my last whistle, it will wake up the coves, and no
mistake." "Very good, Crotchet. Only don't make any profane allusions in the
hearing of the gentlemen with me, for one of them is the Under Secretary
of State, and the other two are men of account. We have to meet some one
else in the church." "Then he hasn't come." "That's awkward. The Lord Mayor was to meet us. Ah! who is this?" A private carriage stopped on the other side of the way, and some one
alighted, and a voice cried--

"Go home now, Samuel, and put up the horses. I shall not want you any
more to-night. Go home." "Shan't we call anywhere for you, my lord?" said Samuel, the coachman. "No--no, I say. Go away at once." "That's the Lord Mayor," said Sir Richard. "He is pretty true to his
time." As he spoke, Sir Richard crossed the road, and addressed the chief
magistrate of the city, saying--

"A fine night, my lord." "Oh, Sir Richard, is that you? Well, I am very glad to meet with you so
soon. If I were to tell you the difficulty I have had to get here, you
would not believe me. Indeed you could not." "Really, my lord." "Yes. You must know, Sir Richard, between you and I, and--and"--Here the
Lord Mayor, who did not like to say post, looked about him, and his eyes
falling upon Temple Bar, added--"Bar, I say; between you and me and the
Bar, the Lady Mayoress, although a most excellent woman--indeed I may
say an admirable woman--has at times her little faults of temper. You
understand?" "Who is without?" said Sir Richard. "Ah, who indeed--who indeed, Sir Richard. That is a very sensible remark
of yours. Who is without? as you justly enough say." "The Lord Mayor!" said Sir Richard, who had been gradually leading his
lordship to Temple Bar, and now announced his arrival to the three
gentlemen who were there in waiting. The three gentlemen professed themselves to be quite delighted to see
the Lord Mayor, and the Lord Mayor professed to be quite in raptures to
see the three gentlemen, so that a pleasanter party than they all made,
could not have been imagined. "Now," said Sir Richard Blunt, "I think, with all deference, gentlemen,
that the sooner we proceed to business the better." "Yes, yes," said Mr. Villimay, who was the senior churchwarden. "Oh,
yes--certainly." "And yet," said the Lord Mayor, "we must be very cautious." "Oh, very--very cautious," cried Villimay. "But a bold front is the best," remarked Sir Richard. "Yes. As you say, sir, there's nothing like a bold front," cried
Villimay. Sir Richard, with a quiet smile, said to the under secretary--

"A very obliging person, you perceive, Mr. Villimay is." "Oh, very," laughed the secretary. Preceded now by the churchwarden, they all made their way towards the
church, but the watchman at the corner of Chancery Lane must have had
something upon his mind, he was so very wakeful, for after they had all
passed but Crotchet, he looked out of his box, and said--"Thieves!" "What's that to you?" said Crotchet, facing him with a look of defiance,
"eh? Can't you be quiet when you is told?" "Murder!" said the watchman, as he began to fumble for his rattle. "Hark ye, old pump," said Crotchet. "I've settled eight watchmen atween
this here and Charing Cross, and you'll make nine, if you opens your
mouth again." The appalled watchman shrank back into his box. "Eight, did you say?" "Yes." Crotchet took the lantern off its hook in front of the box, and smashed
it upon the head of the guardian of the night, whereupon the aforesaid
guardian shrank completely down to the bottom of the box, with the
fragments of the lantern hanging about him, and said not another word. "I rather think," said Mr. Crotchet to himself, "as I've settled that
old fellow comfortable." With this conviction upon his mind--the amiability or the non-amiability
of which we shall not stop to discuss--Mr. Crotchet ran hastily after
the rest of the party, and stationed himself by the church porch,
according to orders. By this time, Mr. Villimay, the churchwarden, had
produced a little gothic-looking key, and proceeding to a small side
door, he, after some rattling, partly consequent upon the lock being in
a state of desuetude, and partly from personal nervousness, he did
succeed in turning the rusty wards, and then, with an ominous groan, the
door yielded. Sir Richard Blunt had quite satisfied himself that there
were no eaves-droppers at hand, so he was anxious to get the party
housed--perhaps in this instance churched would be a more appropriate
expression. "Gentlemen," he said, "the night is stealing past, and we have much to
do." "That is true, Sir Richard," said the secretary. "Come on, Donkin, and
let us get through it." The Lord Mayor shook a little as he passed through the little door,
last, having, although king of the city, given the _pas_ to every one of
his companions, upon that most mysterious mission to old St. Dunstan's
church at such an hour. Perhaps he had a faint hope that they might
leave him entirely behind, and shut the door precipitately, so that he
could not get in. If he had any such hope, however, it was doomed, like
too many human hopes, to bitter disappointment, for Sir Richard Blunt
held the door open for him, saying blandly--

"Now, my lord. We could not get on without you." "Oh, thank you--thank you. You are very good." The Lord Mayor crossed the threshold, and then Mr. Villimay, who had
occupied a remote and mysterious position at the back of the door,
closed it, and locked it on the inside. "If--if you were to lose the key, Mr. Villimay?" said the Lord Mayor.