“Any old lark,” said Lambone.
“Anything,” said Christina Alberta.
“Three,” said Lambone and consulted his watch: “it’s now nearly five. Do you think there is any particular place, Christina Alberta, more than any other place, where we might go and look for him? Where, in fact, we ought to look for him?”
“But will you come and look for him?”
“I’m at your service.”
“It wasn’t in the bond.”
“I want to. If you won’t walk too fast. I feel I ought to.”
Christina Alberta stood before him with her arms akimbo. “I would bet five to one,” she said slowly, “that he heads for Buckingham Palace and demands an audience—No, that isn’t how he puts it—offers to give an audience to his Vassal, the King. He was full of that this morning. And then—Then I suppose they will lock him up and have an inquiry into his mental condition.”
“H’m,” said Lambone, and then, rising to the occasion: “Let’s go to Buckingham Palace.
“We’ll go there at once,” he said, and moved slowly doorward. “We’ll get a taxi.”