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.
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