stward 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 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 Pes