The police constable's prediction as to the difficulties of the traffic proved more than justified. In Grosvenor Place, the King found that he could only advance at a snail's pace, sounding his siren continuously. Over and over again, he had hurriedly to apply all his brakes. The crowd, singing, cheering, and rollicking, had taken complete possession of the roadway, and ignored the approach of all vehicles of whatsoever kind. Fellow motorists, in like case with himself, grinned at the King, in friendly, mutual commiseration. For his part, it was with difficulty, that he restrained his impatience, and kept his temper. He was still far too close to the palace for his peace of mind.
At Hyde Park Corner, the police, mounted and on foot, had contrived to maintain a narrow fairway, which made real, although still slow, progress through the locked traffic possible. But in Park Lane, the crowd had it all their own way again, spread out across the road, and indulging in rough horse-play, as nearly out of hand as the London crowd ever permits itself to go. Happily, by the Marble Arch, the road cleared once more. In Oxford Street, in spite of the brilliant illuminations of the famous shops and stores, and the huge crowds which they had attracted there, the King found that he could slightly increase his speed. When he swung, at last, into Tottenham Court Road, and so headed the car directly north, the traffic, by comparison with that through which he had just passed, seemed almost normal. Free now from the necessity of extra vigilance, and only occasionally called upon to sound his siren, or to apply his brakes, he was able to open out the car considerably, and settle himself more comfortably at the steering wheel.
CHAPTER III
t was a wonderful summer night. Here, as the car ran out into the quieter, less crowded, and more humbly illuminated area of the inner suburbs, the night reasserted itself. Rising late, above the roofs and twisted chimney pots, a large, round, golden moon hung low in the dark blue sky. The rush of air, stirred by the throbbing car, was cool and fresh. Naturally, and inevitably, the King's thoughts turned now, once again, to Judith.
It was on just such a wonderful summer night, as this, in early June, a year ago, that he had first seen Judith.
On that memorable night, the King had driven alone, out of London, late at night, just as he was driving now, at the end of a fortnight's leave, which he had spent incognito, in town. Soon after he had run through the fringe of the outer suburbs, which he was even then entering, with four hundred odd miles of road between him and the Naval Base in Scotland, where he was due to rejoin his ship, and with barely time to make them good, the car he was driving had developed engine trouble. A few minutes of frenzied tinkering had set the car going again, but the engine had only served to carry him well clear of the town, out into the sleeping countryside, when it had failed, once more, this time completely, and he had found himself stranded, at the side of the lonely, deserted, country road, the victim of a permanent breakdown.
The King smiled to himself, now, as he recalled his reckless, humorous appreciation of that situation. In those days, "a sailor, not a Prince," he had had a light heart. Nothing had been able to disturb his equanimity for long.
Abandoning the broken down car, almost at once, at the side of the road, he had set out, adventurously, on foot, to look for succour. The night had been, then, as now, cool, fragrant, and moonlit. Soon a narrow, winding, wooded lane, on the left of the road, had attracted him. Turning down this lane, he had followed its twisting, tree-shadowed course, for over a mile or more, until, suddenly, he had come upon the small lodge, and open carriage gate, of an isolated country house, which stood, a little back from the road, surrounded by tall trees.