id Mr. Phillips. "I wouldn't have thought he had
it in him to fire a royal salute."

He gave Captain Wilson credit which was not his due. It was Smith, the
steward, who fired the revolver. Afterwards that loyal servant excused
himself to Mr. Donovan.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "perhaps I oughtn't to have fired without
orders; but it seemed the proper thing to do, sir."

"Do you always carry a gun in your pocket?" said Mr. Donovan.

"Only when I'm among Eastern peoples, sir. It's wiser then. Not in
England, sir."

The Queen, standing radiant in the sunshine before her palace, gave
her first royal command.

"Mr. Phillips," she said, "take the keys and come along."

They ran up the steps together, past the flagstaff, crossed a space of
smooth white rock, and reached the great door which faced them. Mr.
Phillips fitted the key and flung the door wide. A gloomy cool space
lay before them. They were standing in bright sunshine and a glow of
reflected light. Their eyes failed to penetrate the darkness before
them. It was as if a thick black curtain hung inside the door. The
Queen hesitated on the threshold. Mr. Phillips entered the room. He
threw open the shutters and flung the great windows wide. Broad belts
of light crossed the room. The sunshine flooded it. The morning breeze
blew in, driving before it the heavy stagnant air.

The Queen entered.

She stood in a great hall. Round the walls hung pictures in tarnished
frames. Rich furniture, damp-stained and worm-eaten, stood stiffly
arranged as if for some great function. Only here and there was
evidence of some disorder. A table was upset near the fireplace. The
covering of a chair had been torn, and the hair stuffing of its
cushions bulged through the rent. The ashes of a wood fire and the
charred remains of half-burnt logs were on the hearth. Some papers lay
scattered on the floor near one of the windows.

The Queen, subdued, quieter, went on tip-toe round the room. She
touched the furniture and the pictures softly, as she passed them.
There was in her a feeling, half fear, half reverence, for the things
which had once belonged to the dead King Otto. Phillips, moved by an
impulse of curiosity, crossed the room to where the torn papers lay.
He stooped down and picked up some of the fragments. For the most part
they were blank. On one or two there were words in a language he did
not understand. Only one fragment interested him. It was the corner of
a torn enve