promise you I would not. Give it me! It shall really go to him."

"You are not making fun of me?"

"Indeed I am not. Here, where is it? Give it to me, quick!"

She put the precious crumpled document into his hand. Poor nameless
soul, unconscious of what she had achieved--"I hope I've done right,"
she said.

A fresh movement of the crowd drove them against the railings. The
elderly little woman cried out like a frightened child.

"Oh, oh! They are killing me!"

The King lifted her up and put her over into free space on the other
side.

"Here! none of that!" cried a big voice beside him. A rough hand seized
hold of him and wrenched him back; he turned round and found himself in
a policeman's charge. Then another came and took hold of him on the
other side.

Incredibly the thing had happened: he was arrested. Triumphantly,
through a roaring, eddying crowd, the strong arm of the law bore him
away.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE KING'S NIGHT OUT

I

The King sat in a large square chamber with barred windows, awaiting his
turn to be attended to.

The crowd of prisoners seated on benches round the walls had become
attenuated; only about a score of them now remained. Women had been
dealt with first, the residuum were men; the general charge against
these was pocket-picking.

He had been sitting there for hours. It was now one o'clock.

"Now then, you!" said the voice of the sergeant in charge. His turn had
come.

In an adjoining room he found his two accusers awaiting him. He was led
up to a table where sat an official in uniform making entry of the
names. A charge-sheet, nearly full, was spread on the table before him.

The policeman who had made the arrest gave in the charge.

"Name?" said the sergeant-clerk sharply, suspending the motion of his
pen.

The King, still wearing his cap, took off his snow-glasses and turned
down the collar of his coat.

It was no use. The officer looked at him without recognition.

"Name?" he said again; and the policeman upon his right, giving the King
a rough jog, said, "Tell the sergeant your name!" And so, it appeared,
the useless formality must go on.

The King gave the two essentials--first-christian and surname--out of a
long string of appendices for which half the sovereigns of Europe had
stood as godfathers.

But the three words "John Ganz-Wurst" meant nothing to the official ear.
Over the patronymic he paused in doubt when only halfway through. "Spell
i