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.