feeling of light-hearted holiday irresponsibility, such as he had not known for months, for years as it seemed to him, was with the King as he darted out of the library. He raced along the palace corridors like a schoolboy released from school. The palm and orange tree decorated lounge, half vestibule, and half conservatory, from which ran the private staircase leading up to his own suite of rooms, was his first objective. He had intended to make a wild dash up to his rooms to secure some sort of hat, and the dust coat, in which he usually escaped from the palace. Happily, now, as he entered the lounge, his eyes were caught by a tweed cap, which he wore sometimes in the garden, which was lying on a side table, where he had tossed it, a day or two ago. Laughing triumphantly, he picked up this cap, and crammed it down on to his head. Then he darted out of the lounge, through the open glass door, into the garden.
In the garden, the air was heavy with the rich scents of the blossoming shrubs and flowers. The brilliant morning sunshine struck the King, as he hurried along the paths, with almost a tropical force. In spite of the heat, as soon as he was sure that he was securely screened by the shrubberies, he broke, once again, into a run. Lighthearted, and irresponsible, as his mood was, he was conscious of the need for haste. His running soon brought him, flushed, and panting a little, but in no real distress, to the small, green painted, wooden door, in the boundary wall, at the far end of the garden. Hurriedly producing his keys, he unlocked the door, and swung it open. A moment later, as the door, operated by its spring, closed behind him, he stood on the pavement of Lower Grosvenor Place.
Lower Grosvenor Place, as usual, was almost deserted. One or two chance pedestrians were moving along the pavement. Immersed in their own dreams and cares, they paid no attention whatever to the King. Higher up the sunlit street, a grizzled, battered looking old Scotchman, in tawdry Highland costume, was producing a dismal, droning wail on bagpipes, in front of one of the largest of the tall houses, in the hope, no doubt, that he would be given "hush money," and sent away, before the arrival of life's inevitable policeman.
After a quick glance up, and then down, the street, the King darted across the road, turned into the familiar cul-de-sac on the other side, and so passed into the secluded, shut-in mews at the back of the tall houses.
No one was visible in the mews, as the King unlocked, and opened, the doors of Geoffrey Blunt's garage. A minute or two sufficed for him to run out the car. Flinging on the thick, leather coat, and adjusting the goggles, which lay ready to his hand, where he had tossed them that morning, he re-locked the garage doors. Then he sprang up into his seat at the steering wheel of the car, and started the engine.
For one anxious moment, he feared that the engine was going to fail him; but, next moment, it settled sweetly to its work, and the car shot forward, out of the secluded mews, up the quiet, side street beyond, and so into Grosvenor Place.
In Grosvenor Place, the chance pedestrians who had been moving along the sunlit pavement had passed on, out of sight, still immersed, no doubt, in their own dreams and cares. The grizzled, battered looking old Scotchman, in Highland costume, had just succeeded, apparently, in extorting his "hush money." With his bagpipes tucked under his arm, he was swaggering along now, in the centre of the road, his ruddy, weatherbeaten, wrinkled face wreathed in smiles.
The car caught up, and passed the triumphant old blackmailer in a cloud of dust.
A moment later, as he approached Hyde Park Corner, the King decided to vary the route which he usually followed. With this end in view, he swung the car sharply to the right, down Constitution Hill. At this hour of the day, it occurred to him, Park Lane and Oxford Street, his usual route, would be crowded with traffic. By running down Constitution Hill, and out into, and along, the Mall he would probably secure an open road, and so save several minutes. And every minute he could save now, might be of vital importance later.
The car had a clear run down Constitution Hill. In the Mall, the Coronation flags still hung, flaunting and gay in the sunlight. The stands, on either side of the road, from which the guests of the Government had viewed the Coronation procession, the day before, were, too, still in position. The Office of Works, at the moment, no doubt, had far more important, and urgent enterprises on hand, than the removal of flags, and the dismantling of stands.