“We’ll have a lot of fun,” said Virginia. “Teaching the brigands not to be brigands, and the assassins not to assassinate, and generally improving the moral tone of the country.” “I like to hear these pure ideals,” said Anthony. “It makes me feel my sacrifice has not been in vain.” “Rot,” said Virginia calmly, “you’ll enjoy being a King. It’s in your blood, you know. You were brought up to the trade of Royalty, and you’ve got a natural aptitude for it, just like plumbers have a natural bent for plumbing.” “I never think they have,” said Anthony. “But damn it all, don’t let’s waste time talking about plumbers. Do you know that at this very minute I’m supposed to be deep in conference with Isaacstein and old Lollipop? They want to talk about oil. Oil, my God! They can just await my kingly pleasure. Virginia, do you remember my telling you once that I’d have a damned good try to make you care for me.” “I remember,” said Virginia softly. “But Superintendent Battle was looking out of the window.” “Well, he isn’t now,” said Anthony. He caught her suddenly to him, kissing her eyelids, her lips, the green gold of her hair.... “I do love you so, Virginia,” he whispered. “I do love you so. Do you love me?” He looked down at her—sure of the answer. Her head rested against his shoulder, and very low, in a sweet shaken voice, she answered: “Not a bit!” “You little devil,” cried Anthony, kissing her again. “Now I know for certain that I shall love you until I die....” 31 Sundry Details Scene—Chimneys, 11 A.M. Thursday morning. Johnson, the police constable, with his coat off, digging. Something in the nature of a funeral feeling seems to be in the air. The friends and relations stand round the grave that Johnson is digging. George Lomax has the air of the principal beneficiary under the will of the deceased. Superintendent Battle, with his immovable face, seems pleased that the funeral arrangements have gone so nicely. As the undertaker, it reflects credit upon him. Lord Caterham has that solemn and shocked look which Englishmen assume when a religious ceremony is in progress. Mr. Fish does not fit into the picture so well. He is not sufficiently grave. Johnson bends to his task. Suddenly he straightens up. A little stir of excitement passes round. “That’ll do, sonny,” says Mr. Fish. “We shall do nicely now.” One perceives at once that he is really the family physician. Johnson retires. Mr. Fish, with due solemnity, stoops over the excavation. The surgeon is about to operate. He brings out a small canvas package. With much ceremony he hands it to Superintendent Battle. The latter, in his turn, hands it to George Lomax. The etiquette of the situation has now been fully complied with. George Lomax unwraps the package, slits up the oil-silk inside it, burrows into further wrapping. For a moment he holds something on the palm of his hand—then quickly shrouds it once more in cotton wool. He clears his throat.