King John of Jingalo: The Story of a Monarch in DifficultiesHousman, Laurence
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King John of Jingalo: The Story of a Monarch in Difficulties
Housman, Laurence
Kings and rulers -- Fiction
So long he stood, and listened, and waited, that before he closed the
window again the clock had told the three-quarters to eight. Then he
hesitated no more; passing out of his study and down to a lower corridor
he came presently to the cloak lobby, and selecting a rough full-length
overcoat, a motor cap, and from a drawer a pair of clouded snow-glasses,
arrayed himself in these, and with flaps drawn down and coat collar
turned high, passed out by a small side-entrance which led on to the
terrace.
Chill air and a bosom of darkness received him; through the thick
barrier of trees skirting the walled precincts scarcely a light winked;
only the large domed conservatory behind him threw a pale radiance
before his feet as he crossed the terrace and moved off by a winding
path in the direction of a small postern concealed in shrubbery.
As he quitted the grass, the sound of his own footfalls upon firm gravel
made him guiltily afraid; and it was not without some moral effort that
he, a king in his own domain, kept himself from stepping back
secretively to the turfed edge. Suppressing the inclination, he
proceeded at a smart pace, and coming presently to the door with a
slip-latch on its inner side he opened it and passed through.
At the sound of opening a policeman stationed outside turned and stood
passively regarding him; his muffled appearance seemed sufficiently in
keeping with the uses to which this particular exit was put by others to
awaken neither suspicion nor surprise. With a half-waggish air of
respect the man touched his helmet. "Good-evening, sir," said he, as
though there subsisted between the habitues of that door and himself a
sort of understanding.
To make a quicker escape from the man's scrutiny and the glare of the
lamp commanding the entrance, the King crossed the road, and took up his
course along the more dimly lighted footway on the further side. At this
hour the park row in which he found himself was almost deserted; now and
again single pedestrians went by, and as he received from none of these
more than a cursory and inattentive glance, his sense of incognito
increased, and he stepped out more confidently to the task that lay
ahead.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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