Left alone, the Duke remained motionless, for a minute or two. The smile, which the King's impulsive ingenuousness had evoked, still lingered on his lips; but his piercing eyes were clouded now, and heavy with thought. Suddenly he turned to the writing table, and, picking up the telephone instrument, took down the receiver. The whole manner of the man changed with this decisive little action. There was a curt, commanding, masterful ring in his sonorous voice, as he gave his directions to the operator at the palace exchange. "The Duke of Northborough is speaking. I want Scotland Yard, and the War Office, at once, in that order. You will give me 'priority.' Shut out all other calls." CHAPTER X A 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.