II

Fleeing from the sight still registered upon his brain the King rang for
his secretary. A figure of correctitude entered.

"There has been an accident," said his Majesty. "Over there!" He
pointed. "A steeplejack has fallen."

The secretary slid respectfully to the window and looked out. To that
polite official gaze of inquiry the scene of the tragedy returned a
blank and uncommunicative stare.

"Poor wretch!" murmured the King. "I actually saw him go! Ring up, and
inquire at the Police Center; though, of course, the poor fellow must be
dead!"

The secretary sped away on his errand, and the King, moving back to the
window, gazed fixedly at the spire, as though it could still in some way
inform him of the tragedy consummated below. Then he returned to his
desk and looked distractedly at his papers, but it was no use--back he
went to the window again.

Presently the secretary returned and stood drooping for permission to
speak. Permission came. "The man is dead, your Majesty. He was killed
instantly."

The King gave a sigh of relief. "Of course," he murmured, "from such a
height as that!" He stood for a while still cogitating on the sad event: