THE ENDING OF WAR
King Ferdinand Charles pulled himself together. He protested.
"Oh, quite so," said the ex-king, "quite so."
"What grounds?"
The ex-king permitted himself a gesture and the ghost of a chuckle—why the devil should he chuckle? "Practically none," he said. "But of course, with these things one has to be so careful."
And then again for an instant something—like the faintest shadow of derision—gleamed out of the envoy's eyes and recalled that chilly feeling to King Ferdinand's spine.
Some kindred depression had come to Pestovitch, who had been watching the drawn intensity of Firmin's face. He came to the help of his master, who, he feared, might protest too much.
"A search!" cried the king. "An embargo on our aeroplanes!"
"Only a temporary expedient," said the ex-king Egbert, "while the search is going on."
The king appealed to his council.
"The people will never permit it, sire," said a bustling little man in a gorgeous uniform.
"You'll have to make 'em," said the ex-king, genially addressing all the councillors.
King Ferdinand glanced at the closed brass door through which no news would come.
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