sea. One moment he was exalted and full of contempt for 'that

ass' and his search; the next he was down in a pit of dread.

'They will find them, Pestovitch, and then he'll hang us.'

'Hang us?'

The king put his long nose into his councillor's face. 'That

grinning brute WANTS to hang us,' he said. 'And hang us he will,

if we give him a shadow of a chance.'

'But all their Modern State Civilisation!'

'Do you think there's any pity in that crew of Godless,

Vivisecting Prigs?' cried this last king of romance. 'Do you

think, Pestovitch, they understand anything of a high ambition or

a splendid dream? Do you think that our gallant and sublime

adventure has any appeal to them? Here am I, the last and

greatest and most romantic of the Caesars, and do you think they

will miss the chance of hanging me like a dog if they can,

killing me like a rat in a hole? And that renegade! He who was

once an anointed king!…

'I hate that sort of eye that laughs and keeps hard,' said the

king.

'I won't sit still here and be caught like a fascinated rabbit,'

said the king in conclusion. 'We must shift those bombs.'

'Risk it,' said Pestovitch. 'Leave them alone.'

'No,' said the king. 'Shift them near the frontier. Then while

they watch us here-they will always watch us here now-we can

buy an aeroplane abroad, and pick them up…'

The king was in a feverish, irritable mood all that evening, but

he made his plans nevertheless with infinite cunning. They must

get the bombs away; there must be a couple of atomic hay lorries,

the bombs could be hidden under the hay… Pestovitch went and

came, instructing trusty servants, planning and replanning…

The king and the ex-king talked very pleasantly of a number of

subjects. All the while at the back of King Ferdinand Charles's

mind fretted the mystery of his vanished aeroplane. There came no

news of its capture, and no news of its success. At any moment

all that power at the back of his visitor might crumble away and

vanish…

It was past midnight, when the king, in a cloak and slouch hat

that might equally have served a small farmer, or any respectable

middle-class man, slipped out from an inconspicuous service gate

on the eastward side of his palace into the thickly wooded

gardens that sloped in a series of terraces down to the town.

Pestovitch and his guard-valet Peter, both wrapped about in a

similar disguise, came out among the laurels that bordered the

pathway and joined him. It was a clear, warm night, but the stars

seemed unusually little and remote because of the aeroplanes,

each trailing a searchlight, that drove hither and thither across

the blue. One great beam seemed to rest on the king for a moment

as he came out of the palace; then instantly and reassuringly it

had swept away. But while they were still in the palace gardens

another found them and looked at them.

'They see us,' cried the king.

'They make nothing of us,' said Pestovitch.

The king glanced up and met a calm, round eye of light, that

seemed to wink at him and vanish, leaving him blinded…

The three men went on their way. Near the little gate in the

garden railings that Pestovitch had caused to be unlocked, the

king paused under the shadow of an flex and looked back at the

place. It was very high and narrow, a twentieth-century rendering

of mediaevalism, mediaevalism in steel and bronze and sham stone

and opaque glass. Against the sky it splashed a confusion of

pinnacles. High up in the eastward wing were the windows of the

apartments of the ex-king Egbert. One of them was brightly lit

now, and against the light a little black figure stood very still

and looked out upon the night.

The king snarled.

'He little knows how we slip through his fingers,' said

Pestovitch.

And as he spoke they saw the ex-king stretch out his arms slowly,

like one who yawns, knuckle his eyes and turn inward-no doubt to

his bed.

Down through the ancient winding back streets of his capital

hurried the king, and at an appointed corner a shabby

atomic-automobile waited for the three. It was a hackney

carriage of the lowest grade, with dinted metal panels and

deflated cushions. The driver was one of the ordinary drivers of

the capital, but beside him sat the young secretary of

Pestovitch, who knew the way to the farm where the bombs were

hidden.

The automobile made its way through the narrow streets of the old

town, which were still lit and uneasy-for the fleet of airships

overhead had kept the cafes open and people abroad-over the

great new bridge, and so by straggling outskirts to the country.

And all through his capital the king who hoped to outdo Caesar,

sat back and was very still, and no one spoke. And as they got

out into the dark country they became aware of the searchlights

wandering over the country-side like the uneasy ghosts of giants.

The king sat forward and looked at these flitting whitenesses,

and every now and then peered up to see the flying ships

overhead.

'I don't like them,' said the king.

Presently one of these patches of moonlight came to rest about

them and seemed to be following their automobile. The king drew

back.

'The things are confoundedly noiseless,' said the king. 'It's

like being stalked by lean white cats.'

He peered again. 'That fellow is watching us,' he said.

And then suddenly he gave way to panic. 'Pestovitch,' he said,

clutching his minister's arm, 'they are watching us. I'm not

going through with this. They are watching us. I'm going back.'

Pestovitch remonstrated. 'Tell him to go back,' said the king,

and tried to open the window. For a few moments there was a grim