I believe now that beyond the hold he had on the minds of great numbers of the people because of his human qualities and the tradition of his statesmanship and “tact,” there was an intuitive sense in the nation that after his death the peace of Europe would be gravely disturbed by some world war. I remember that thought was expressed to me by a man in the crowd who said: “After Edward—Armageddon!” It was a great, everchanging crowd made up of every condition of men and women in London—duchesses and great ladies, peers and costers, actresses, beggars, workingwomen, foreigners, politicians, parsons, shop girls, laborers, and men of leisure, all waiting and watching for the next bulletin. At eight o’clock, or thereabouts, I went into the Palace with other press men, and Lord Knollys assured us that the King was expected to pass a good night, and that no further bulletin would be issued until the following morning.
With that good news I went back to the office and prepared to go home, but the news editor said, as news editors do, “Sorry, but you’ll have to spend the night at the Palace—in case of anything happening.”
I was tired out, and hungry. I protested, but in vain. The only concession to me was that I should take a colleague, named Eddy, to share the vigil outside the Palace.
Eddy protested, but without more avail. Together we dined, and then decided to hire a four-wheeled cab, drive into the palace yard, and go to sleep as comfortably as possible. This idea proceeded according to plan. By favor of the police, our old cab was the only vehicle allowed inside the courtyard of the Palace, though outside was parked an immense concourse of automobiles in which great folk were spending the night.
Eddy unlaced his boots, and prepared to sleep. I paced the courtyard, smoking the last cigarette, and watching the strange picture outside.
Suddenly a royal carriage came very quietly from the inner courtyard and passed me where I stood. The lights from a high lamp-post flashed inside the carriage, and I saw the faces of those who had been the Prince of Wales and Princess Mary. They were dead white, and their eyes were wet and shining.
I ran to the four-wheeled cab.
“Eddy!” I said, “I believe the King is dead!”
Together we hurried to the equerries’ entrance of the Palace and went inside through the open door.
I spoke to one of the King’s gentlemen, standing with his back to the fire, talking to an old man whom I knew to be the Belgian Minister.