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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

struggle in the automobile; a gripping of wrists and a blow. 'I



can't go through with it,' repeated the king, 'I can't go through

with it.'



'But they'll hang us,' said Pestovitch.

'Not if we were to give up now. Not if we were to surrender the



bombs. It is you who brought me into this....'

At last Pestovitch compromised. There was an inn perhaps half a



mile from the farm. They could alight there and the king could

get brandy, and rest his nerves for a time. And if he still



thought fit to go back he could go back.

'See,' said Pestovitch, 'the light has gone again.'



The king peered up. 'I believe he's following us without a

light,' said the king.



In the little old dirty inn the king hung doubtful for a time,

and was for going back and throwing himself on the mercy of the



council. 'If there is a council,' said Pestovitch. 'By this time

your bombs may have settled it.



'But if so, these infernalaeroplanes would go.'

'They may not know yet.'



'But, Pestovitch, why couldn't you do all this without me?'

Pestovitch made no answer for a moment. 'I was for leaving the



bombs in their place,' he said at last, and went to the window.

About their conveyance shone a circle of bright light. Pestovitch



had a brilliant idea. 'I will send my secretary out to make a

kind of dispute with the driver. Something that will make them



watch up above there. Meanwhile you and I and Peter will go out

by the back way and up by the hedges to the farm....'



It was worthy of his subtle reputation and it answered passing

well.



In ten minutes they were tumbling over the wall of the farm-yard,

wet, muddy, and breathless, but unobserved. But as they ran



towards the barns the king gave vent to something between a groan

and a curse, and all about them shone the light--and passed.



But had it passed at once or lingered for just a second?

'They didn't see us,' said Peter.



'I don't think they saw us,' said the king, and stared as the

light went swooping up the mountain side, hung for a second about



a hayrick, and then came pouring back.

'In the barn!' cried the king.






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