He leaped lightly from the carriage, and pushed his way out of sight on the sidewalk.  Boyne remained alone in the vehicle, staring wildly round; the driver kept slowly and stupidly on, Boyne did not know how much farther.  He could not speak; he felt as if he could not stir.  But the moment came when he could not be still.  He gave a galvanic jump to the ground, and the friendly crowd on the sidewalk welcomed him to its ranks and closed about him.  The driver had taken the lefthand corner, just before a plain carriage with the Queen and the queen-mother came in sight round the right.  The young Queen was bowing to the people, gently, and with a sort of mechanical regularity.  Now and then a brighter smile than that she conventionally wore lighted up her face.  The simple progress was absolutely without state, except for the aide-de-camp on horseback who rode beside the carriage, a little to the front.

Boyne stood motionless on the curb, where a friendly tall Dutchman had placed him in front that he might see the Queen.

“Hello!” said the voice of Trannel, and elbowing his way to Boyne’s side, he laughed and coughed through the smoke of his cigarette.  “I was afraid you had lost me.  Where’s your carriage?”

Boyne did not notice his mockeries.  He was entranced in that beatific vision; his boy-heart went out in worship to the pretty young creature with a reverence that could not be uttered.  The tears came into his eyes.

“There, there!  She’s bowing to you, Boyne. she’s smiling right at you.  By Jove!  She’s beckoning to you!”

“You be still!” Boyne retorted, finding his tongue.  “She isn’t doing any such a thing.”

“She is, I swear she is!  She’s doing it again!  She’s stopping the carriage.  Oh, go out and see what she wants!  Don’t you know that a queen’s wish is a command?  You’ve got to go!”

Boyne never could tell just how it happened.  The carriage did seem to be stopping, and the Queen seemed to be looking at him.  He thought he must, and he started into the street towards her, and the carriage came abreast of him.  He had almost reached the carriage when the aide turned and spurred his horse before him.  Four strong hands that were like iron clamps were laid one on each of Boyne’s elbows and shoulders, and he was haled away, as if by superhuman force.  “Mr. Trannel!” he called out. in his agony, but the wretch had disappeared, and Boyne was left with his captors, to whom he could have said nothing if he could have thought of anything to say.

The detectives pulled him through the crowd and hurried him swiftly down the side street.  A little curiosity straggled after him in the shape of small Dutch boys, too short to look over the shoulders of men at the queens, and too weak to make their way through them to the front; but for them, Boyne seemed alone in the world with the relentless officers, who were dragging him forward and hurting him so with the grip of their iron hands.  He lifted up his face to entreat them not to hold him so tight, and suddenly it was as if he beheld an angel standing in his path.  It was Breckon who was there, staring at him aghast.