"The storm?" he exclaimed.
"Is about to break, sir," the Duke repeated.
There was a long, tense pause.
Then, suddenly, the King laughed, a bitter, ironic laugh.
"I have been a fool," he exclaimed. "In my mind, the glass was 'Set Fair.' I had—forgotten—the storm! I was going to take hold of my job. I was going to put my full weight into my work. I was even going to cultivate the Family, as I was telling you—"
He checked himself abruptly.
"What is going to happen?" he asked.
The Duke drew out his watch, an old-fashioned, gold-cased, half hunter, and looked at it judicially.
"It is now nearly eleven o'clock. In an hour's time, at twelve noon precisely, a universal, lightning strike will take effect, throughout the length and breadth of the country, sir," he replied. "All the public services will cease to run. The individual workman, no matter where, or how, he is employed, as the clock strikes twelve, will lay down his tools, put on his coat, and leave his work. Such a strike is no new thing, you will say. But this is no ordinary strike, sir. Although whole sections of trades unionists, up and down the country, we have good ground to believe, have no very clear idea, why they are striking, although many of their local leaders appear to have been deceived into the belief that the strike has been called for purely industrial reasons, we have indubitable evidence that it is designed as a first step in the long delayed conspiracy to secure the political ascendency of the proletariat. A little company of revolutionary extremists have, at last, captured the labour machine, sir. It is they who are behind this strike. Behind them, I need hardly tell you, are the Internationalists, and the Communists, on the Continent, ready, and eager, to supply arms, ammunition, and money, if the opportunity arises, on a lavish scale.
"Although we have been expecting the storm for so long, this strike form, which it has taken, I may confess to you, sir, has come to us as something of a surprise. The strike leaders, I surmise, are relying, very largely, on that surprise effect, for their success. They imagine, they hope, no doubt, that they will find the Government, elated and thrown off their guard by the success of the Coronation, unprepared; that, in the chaos, which they believe must ensue, the whole nation will be at their mercy; that, having demonstrated their power, they will be able to dictate their own terms. What those terms would be, sir, there can be no question. Internationalism. Communism. A Republic. That persistent delusion of the fanatic, and the unpractical idealist—the Perfect State. Armed revolt was their original plan, sir. Thanks to the vigilance of our Secret Service Agents, that contingency has, I believe, been obviated. But the Red Flag is still their symbol, sir. In the absence of arms, a bloodless revolution appears now to be their final, desperate dream. They will have a rude awakening, sir. In less than twenty-four hours they will be—crushed!