HAVOC






CHAPTER I

CROWNED HEADS MEET


Bellamy, King's Spy, and Dorward, journalist, known to fame in every
English-speaking country, stood before the double window of their
spacious sitting-room, looking down upon the thoroughfare beneath.
Both men were laboring under a bitter sense of failure. Bellamy's
face was dark with forebodings; Dorward was irritated and nervous.
Failure was a new thing to him - a thing which those behind the
great journals which he represented understood less, even, than he.
Bellamy loved his country, and fear was gnawing at his heart.

Below, the crowds which had been waiting patiently for many hours
broke into a tumult of welcoming voices. Down their thickly-packed
lines the volume of sound arose and grew, a faint murmur at first,
swelling and growing to a thunderous roar. Myriads of hats were
suddenly torn from the heads of the excited multitude, handkerchiefs
waved from every window. It was a wonderful greeting, this.