‘I don’t like them,’ said the king. Presently one of these patches of moonlight came to rest about them and seemed to be following their automobile. The king drew back. ‘The things are confoundedly noiseless,’ said the king. ‘It’s like being stalked by lean white cats.’ He peered again. ‘That fellow is watching us,’ he said. And then suddenly he gave way to panic. ‘Pestovitch,’ he said, clutching his minister’s arm, ‘they are watching us. I’m not going through with this. They are watching us. I’m going back.’ Pestovitch remonstrated. ‘Tell him to go back,’ said the king, and tried to open the window. For a few moments there was a grim struggle in the automobile; a gripping of wrists and a blow. ‘I can’t go through with it,’ repeated the king, ‘I can’t go through with it.’ ‘But they’ll hang us,’ said Pestovitch. ‘Not if we were to give up now. Not if we were to surrender the bombs. It is you who brought me into this....’ At last Pestovitch compromised. There was an inn perhaps half a mile from the farm. They could alight there and the king could get brandy, and rest his nerves for a time. And if he still thought fit to go back he could go back. ‘See,’ said Pestovitch, ‘the light has gone again.’ The king peered up. ‘I believe he’s following us without a light,’ said the king. In the little old dirty inn the king hung doubtful for a time, and was for going back and throwing himself on the mercy of the council. ‘If there is a council,’ said Pestovitch. ‘By this time your bombs may have settled it. ‘But if so, these infernal aeroplanes would go.’ ‘They may not know yet.’ ‘But, Pestovitch, why couldn’t you do all this without me?’ Pestovitch made no answer for a moment. ‘I was for leaving the bombs in their place,’ he said at last, and went to the window. About their conveyance shone a circle of bright light. Pestovitch had a brilliant idea. ‘I will send my secretary out to make a kind of dispute with the driver. Something that will make them watch up above there. Meanwhile you and I and Peter will go out by the back way and up by the hedges to the farm....’ It was worthy of his subtle reputation and it answered passing well. In ten minutes they were tumbling over the wall of the farm-yard, wet, muddy, and breathless, but unobserved. But as they ran towards the barns the king gave vent to something between a groan and a curse, and all about them shone the light—and passed. But had it passed at once or lingered for just a second? ‘They didn’t see us,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t think they saw us,’ said the king, and stared as the light went swooping up the mountain side, hung for a second about a hayrick, and then came pouring back. ‘In the barn!’ cried the king.