It was on the 11th day of May, 1980, that he heard the passages between the Emperor and his father. It was on Friday, the 30th, four days before the Coronation, that he moved. There were railways in those old-fashioned times, lines of a single rail. Catching the 9 a.m. express from Paddington, Lord Sydney reached the Land's End district by noon, and alighted at Lyonesse. This was his first visit to the etheric city, and as he left the terminus to enter Brand Street, he was astonished at the grandeur of the place. Thanks to the mildness of the Cornish climate, palms and acacias sheltered the pavement. Down the long vistas of sub-tropic trees there were fountains spraying white splendour into the sunlight, and statues of golden bronze lurked in the shadows. The street was lined with shops and theatres, traffic throbbed upon the causeway, the pavements were thronged with people. The town, even in 1980, was large, its population numbering half a million, a grey granite city walled about on three sides by the sea cliffs. The streets were filled with a tumult of affairs, but where they converged upon St. Buryan Square, there was a resting-place of lawns and trees shadowed by groups of buildings. Upon the western frontage of the square, stood a rough-hewn palace some acres in extent, the office of John Brand III. Homely and plain was the master's room in that palace. The threadbare carpet, the shabby furniture, the queer old plans and pictures on the walls were relics passed down from another age. In that chair an American of the nineteenth century had dreamed, from the books of that case had learned, at that table planned--and the result was Lyonesse. The relics spoke of poverty, of research, of noble patience, and the founder's grandson kept these things as a reminder. The American sat at his desk, and one might have known him for Lyonesse, so mighty his physical strength, so shabby and neglected his dress, so steady his labour. They say he was a hard man at that time, rugged, avaricious, rather feared than liked. A sealed envelope was brought to him, with explanation that a man had called who would not be denied and had given trouble. Brand opened the cover and within found a visiting card. "Trooper the Marquess of Sydney, Her Majesty's Bodyguard." His face brightened as he read; gladly he sent a welcome to his visitor, gave orders that he was not to be disturbed, and in the interim of waiting set all his work aside. He rose at Lord Sydney's entrance. "Well, old fellow," he spoke heartily, as they shook hands, "is it ten years?" "Fourteen since our last fight at school. I'm awfully glad to see you, Brand." "You've forgotten the black eyes I gave you?" "I'd be sorry to fight again; you're much too strong. But your nose, Brand, you must remember my sign manual, and I was so proud of that nose." Brand stroked his blunt nose thoughtfully, "Most tender memory!"