"All right!" shouted the Prime Minister, bringing them down with him, and laying them carefully at the foot of the wooden stairs. He came on down to where Quangle was standing.
"Ready?"! he asked.
"Quite," said Quangle. repressing a. slight shudder. They had all supposed (as he had) that the other two would be still alive -- but supposing they were not? Supposing they had fallen into a well and been drowned or had fallen on sharp rocks and had been dashed to pieces? Or supposing .....?"
He shook himself sharply.; This was ridiculous! He mustn't let his imagination run away with him.
"I think you ought to walk backwards, if you ,can. Take the crowbar, and try to jam it into the crack ,if there is a trapdoor of some sort. But mind you don't get caught in the rope."
He suddenly caught himself wondering what would happen if the rope didn't run out fast enough and he was squashed in the trapdoor. However they had started. Quangle carefully kept as nearly exactly a yard and a half behind the Prime Minister as possible. Slowly and silently they made their way up the stairs.
And, Quangle suddenly thought, what if the Prime Minister is dragged down too and the others are not able to pull us up .... ? But look out! The Prime Minister is nearly there. He's just stepping on to the landing. Odd, he doesn't look at all worried. Well, here goes .... !"
There was a muffled exclamation from Quangle. There, right at the Prime Minister's feet, a slab about four feet long, and the whole width of the passage, opened smoothly and silently - and Quangle disappeared into it. The sides were quite smooth and there was no hand-hold. The rope was running out at a terrific speed, but it had been well coiled and the others began to take the strain. Quickly the Prime Minister placed the crowbar into the opening, as the slab shut again on it. The stone seemed very thick, thick enough to prevent any sound getting through, and far too thick to sound at all hollow. The rope was now hanging loose. He caught hold of it and, as he had expected, felt no weight on the end. He hauled on it until it would. come no further, and gave it two sharp tugs. Two others answered him. He gasped with relief.
”He’s all right!” he said quietly to the others, who came down to see. "He answered the signal!"
He bent down to the now only narrow opening and called down through it:
“Ahoy there! Are you all right? How are the others?“
Faintly' he could hear an answering call.
"We're all quite all right," came the Yellow Dandelion's voice. “We were lucky - the dungeon floor is covered with lots of straw. How deep down are we? The tunnel curves unto a chute which we can't see up, and its sides are very smooth. We need rubber-soled shoes."
“How much rope is out?" the Prime Minister asked Simons.
“About 40 feet, Sir," he replied.
“Heavens! As much as that.” He bent down again. "About 40 feet.“
There was a muttered consultation down below.. At last Quangle's voice floated up. "There should be some spare trainers in my wardrobe. Could you get them and throw them down?"
Simons went for them, and returned after a few minutes. In the meantime the Prime Minister examined the trapdoor. Getting Richard to hold the crowbar in place he tried pressing on it. It moved easily, with a. very light pressure, seeming to be balanced very accurately. It opened downwards away from the steps, so that the victim‘s weight opened it further, and he could see that the sides of the chute were indeed very smooth, and that it curved almost immediately below the opening. With trainers it should be quite possible to get as far up as the opening with the aid of the rope. He communicated all this to the people below and then Simons having returned with several pairs of trainers, these were thrown down, and got there safely.
"His Majesty is to come up first as he has been down the longest," came the voice 'of the Yellow Dandelion. “Haul away!“
"Just a moment!" interrupted the diligent Minister, "'Here, Richard! We’ll have to move the crowbar now. Can you keep the trapdoor pressed down so that it doesn’t close again? It‘s quite easy.”
Richard immediately grasped the idea, and lay down on the floor, leaning on the trapdoor. He pressed it down a' bit, so that the Prime Minister could remove the crowbar, and then his cheerful treble rang down the shaft. to tell His Majesty that they were just starting to pull him up. After some time a loud puffing and grunting announced His Majesty’s approach, and the next moment Richard could see his Uncle‘s face, rather red, come round the corner.
"Keep pulling,“ he told the other two, and leant his weight on the trapdoor, so that it went down a good deal further leaving quite a big gap. One or two firm heaves did the trick, and His Majesty was floundering on the edge. Simons and Her Majesty took the strain while the Prime Minister rushed forward to pull the former King to safety. He struggled out, and sat down on the steps to get his breath. Unhappily, in the excitement the King of Flopdoodle let the trapdoor close by mistake.
“Goodness, Richard!” said his Uncle, "how are we going to get the others out? How do we open it?”
“Oh that’s all right,” said the Prime Minister airily, as if the idea had not just come to him. He hurried forward. “Just lean again, please!” he said to Richard, hoping suddenly that his idea was right, and he stepped a pace forward. The trapdoor opened at once. “You see,” he explained, "it only works with two people, you remember. The first one steps on this place," he indicated the place where his foot was, and works some sort of a catch, and then the second person vanishes into the chute.”
With another person to pull, Quangle, whom the Yellow Dandelion insisted should come next, as he was more used to those sorts of things, came up rather more quickly and much more easily. But there was nearly what might have been a serious accident with the Yellow Dandelion himself. The· rope, particularly near the end. where it rested on the edge of the doorway during the last few moments when the person being hauled up swung free in space, was old, like everything else in the castle, and was getting quite frayed. They had hauled the Yellow Dandelion just up to this point when the strands began to give way under the strain. Richard, who watched everything with the greatest interest and enthusiasm, noticed it first and. squeaked "The rope’s breaking!"
A quick glance assured Quangle, who was now at the front, that he was right. “It is indeed,” he said . “HEAVE. Quickly!"
The Yellow Dandelion shot up, and was halfway through the opening, when the extra effort was just too much for the rope, which snapped sharply. Richard fortunately did not let go of the trapdoor this time and. it was Quangle who was the nearest and seized one of the Yellow Dandelion' s hands. For a few moments; the other was waving furiously in nothingness, looking for a grip on the edge. Then the Prime Minister stumbled forward and took the other hand. They held the Dandelion up, until His Majesty got up, (he had fallen over backwards,) and got him under the arms. He came straight up with a rush, and they all fell over in a. heap on solid floor. Then Richard let go of the trapdoor, and it closed noiselessly .....
***********
While this brilliant and entirely successful rescue was taking place at Fizzling Towers, the Baron was stamping up and down his study, while in the kitchen below great lumps of plaster fell into the soup and hit the patient cook on the head. There came a tentative tap on the door. The Baron turned like a lion that has resolved to maul his tamer and has just heard his keys in the lock.
"H'rein!" he called violently. “Wo ist der?"
“I am, your vife,“ came a small voice, and a small mouse-like woman, with greying hair and frightened eyes, put her head round the door. “Heinrich, what has annoyed you so? You are so angry, you will not even speak to me. And the poor Gertrude – she cannot get on with the dinner which you like so much, with all the plaster in the vegetables.“
"Vot do I gare vor vegettubbles!" snorted the Baron, and he swung round to the telephone, and lifted the receiver. His wife saw that it was useless, as it always was when her fierce husband was in a temper. She sighed, and retreated
to apologise to the cook for all the bother. But she too was used to it all.
"Give me Vlopvord seekstreetzuvunfife!" the Baron shouted at the astonished operator. "It's ze Retolutionary Bureau-of-Police. And hurry; it's urgent!"
"Very well," gurgled the operator, "And what number is speaking please?"
"VIopvordzreezuzefenseekszefen and HURRY OP!" thundered the Baron. "'Eet is an outrage ....."
"Flopford 32767?" said the operator coldly, "Insert a bawbee in the box and when the number answers press button A. Hold the line a moment, please!"
"That settles him!" she said to herself, as she reached out for the right plug.
The Baron was having his Secretary executed. The loss of the King was most unfortunate, and in fact possibly even an incident that would cost him his life. But he was determined that it should cost someone else his life too. And he was going on with his plans to be King of Flopdoodle in any case.. Henry the Ninth! The name had a pleasing sound, in fact, he almost forgot his bad temper in thinking of it, and began to smile. He reached forward for a vase of daffodils on his desk, and picked it up to examine the blooms.
The telephone crackled in his ear. Of course, he was being angry, wasn't he? Why shouldn't he be angry if he wanted to be? And he did want to be; very, very angry indeed! He would be angry, ever so angry He jolly well would be angry in fact, hideously cross - storming with rage '- steaming with temper - growling with furious annoyance! He would spit with rage. He spat. He would make hideous faces! He made a hideous face (not that it made much difference). He growled horribly, and gnashed his teeth so powerfully that one of them cracked and the splinters flew in every direction. To finish off with he rolled on the floor in paroxysms of fury biting great lumps out of the heath-rug. It tasted vile.
He became aware that someone was speaking to him. It was the telephone, which was quivering like a blackberry jelly. He snatched it up hastily.
"... and if you. think that I'm going to hang on to this telephone at the beck and call of every little whippersnapper who wants to waste the time of the Revolutionary Police Force and has nothing better to do with himself all day but growl and spit and carry on like a mad dog, you're sadly wrong, my friend, so don't do it again or you'll find yourself on the list for the Guillotine." The speaker gasped for breath. "Is that clear? Don't waste the time of the Revolution like this again; it took a lot of work to start it."
"I know," said the Baron, deftly getting a word in edgeways. "I schtarted eet. Go und tell General Vurzle dat Baron Balderdash vants to schpeak to him most urgently. And," he went on, as his nice new temper began to get loose, "if I have any more nonsensical rubbish from you, you dirty little rat, you cheeky impudent little schoolboy, stuffed into a poky little office (he had gone off into German) to write piffling little notes for your superiors and to arrest a few paltry criminals who can be trusted not to escape from the hands of a fool with no intelligence...."
"Steady on, old chap," said the General, for it was now he. "I got something about a poky wee office, but I'm afraid my knowledge of the language is hardly up to the rest. What did you want to see - I mean hear, me about?"
"My Zecretary," said the Baron in English once more. "I van him executed. I 'ad a prisoner in my dungeon - a most dangerous anti-revolutionary - an 'e letter escape. I vas most angry. I still am!" he said with pride, and he picked up the vase of daffodils and dashed it to the floor. "Himmelverfluchtete Donnerwetterund blitzen!" he bellowed. "Is the safety of the Revolution to be risked in this way. How soon can he be executed?"
"Well, we're rather busy just at the moment," said the Colonel slowly, "but if you send him over I dare say we could fix him up for you at the beginning of next week. We've got to deal with the Easter rush, you know." He laughed softly at his own joke. The Baron, who had a crude sense of humour, nearly split his sides.
"There's one other thing I wanted to talk to you about, Your Highness," the General went on, more seriously. "That infernal Yellow Dandelion is at work again. I suspect that it was he who got the Royal. Family out of the city. , That man Pushalong, remember him? Well, he's over on a. job here. Gugglian Secret Service business, as always. He thinks of nothing but his own skin, that man."
"Yes, yes?" said the Baron impatiently.
"Well he says he saw the Yellow Dandelion in the City, about six o'clock or so the night before last. He was driving a dark blue or black van... dark colour anyway - over in the twenty-third district. Come to think of it, that's where you live, isn't it? Sounds interesting. We"re checking up, of course, but by a bit of bad luck, Pushalong didn't get his number. He was run over by a bus."
"A bus?" said the Baron faintly.
"That's right. Oh he's rather badly bruised, but he was lucky. He was standing in the middle of the road apparently, gaping, when the bus came up behind him and walloped him one. Luckily for him he fell between the tramlines, where someone had dug a hole in the road. The man always did have marvellous luck - except with the Dandelion. He told me that he was just coming round when a fast tram went ,straight over his head. All right, I'm afraid I must go now. Just send round anyone you like; we'll look after them. Cheerio!'' There was a click and the line went. dead.
The dinner gong rang. The Baron put down the receiver and walked to the door, thinking. Half-way across he put his foot in the flower vase, and sat down heavily. The last piece of plaster in the ceiling of the kitchen gave up the unequal struggle and came down in the gravy-boat. The irate Baron tugged off the vase and threw it out of the window. It was a mistake. The window was not open.
REVOLUTION IN FLOPDOODLE
Chapter Eleven
"Well, you know, it's all very well rescuing him, but can you tell me what we're going to do with him?" asked His Majesty who was leaning back in an armchair sipping his coffee. "At least he seems to get on all right with William." William was a cousin of Richard's. The Yellow Dandelion had arranged for him to be collected from school and brought secretly to Fizzling Towers before it occurred to anyone to use him as a hostage.
"It's his birthday on Monday, anyway," Quangle put in. "I'd like him to be here for it at least. He wants a new bicycle," he added, seeing the others were eyeing him doubtfully.
"Well at least that shouldn't be too hard to find," His Majesty admitted.
"Surely he's got some home to go to?" suggested the Yellow Dandelion intelligently but ungrammatically.
"No!" said His Majesty firmly. "That's just the trouble - he hasn't. He and his brothers have always lived with his aunt, that Gargling creature. The Aunt's on his mother's side, of course. I'm his only uncle, and l am his only surviving relative on his father’s side. And you of course my dear," he added, gallantly bowing to his wife, who was doing the crossword. "And to cap it all, he’s in the direct line of succession." He got out of his chair and wandered over to the window. Richard was busy climbing a tree.
"At this moment,” Quangle pointed out quietly, "'He's officially our King! And he' s got pretty well the whole country searching for him. More than for us," he added. "Our side are looking for him too."
Her Majesty looked up from her crossword.
"Are you sure he's quite safe?"' she enquired.
"For the moment, yes," said the Yellow Dandelion, "but I wouldn't vouch: for his safety after Sunday. I'd like to get you all out of the country and that's the truth."
"Wouldn't the secret passages.......?" suggested His Majesty, turning round.
"We only know one secret passage so far," interrupted the accurate Dandelion, "and what happened in that one is quite enough to discourage me from going into others. Besides you can't keep the boys in a secret passage all the time – they'e running around outside at this very minute.
There was a loud whooping as the persons in question ran past the windows in hot pursuit of the Palace Cat, which the Yellow Dandelion had snatched up at the last moment and brought with them.
"Well it's good for Richard to have someone to play with, I must say," conceded Her Ma
jesty.,
"The question is," pointed out His Majesty from the window seat where he was sulking after Quangle's last remark. "Is he going to go on being King? And what do I do if he is?"
"Oh!" said Quangle, "that's not hard. I'm sure he'll be quite willing to abdicate in your favour in the end. or perhaps he would just have to sign something to reverse his proclamation. The point is, you'll have to be in a position to keep your throne, from Revolutionaries and suchlike, before there is any point in, claiming it. Otherwise all this would just happen all over again with someone else."
His Majesty admitted that he was right..
"The main thing, for the present at least, is to keep him out of the hands of them. The one thing that I'm slightly surprised at is that, with Richard out of the way, no one else has tried to claim the throne. That's odd."
"Not really," explained the politically-expert Dandelion. "There's no one around who can command as much support as Richard, or, of course Your Majesty yourself. But when the time goes by and nothing happens, then things will start happening. Some people are already agitating for a Republic."
"Oh, come now," said His Majesty in protest. "Not that!"
Every true king dreads a Republic, especially a revolutionary one.
"Never mind," comforted Her Majesty. "As my mother used to say: 'Don't worry; it may not happen'."
"Agreed," remarked His Majesty. He turned abruptly back to the window. Perhaps I'm getting old," he .said gloomily.
Quangle hastened to reassure him.
"Nonsense!" he said, "why, you 're not yet twenty."
"Nineteen and a half," insisted His Majesty, determined to be thoroughly gloomy now that he had started.
Her Majesty pushed aside her crossword with a. sigh, got up, went over to him, and touched his arm.
"You need fresh air," she said simply. "Let's get the horses out and go for a ride."
They went out.
************
On the fifth day of Richard's reign he celebrated his thirteenth birthday. The party was magnificent; the birthday cake being in three tiers, each a different type of cake. The icing was a triumph of the skill of Quangle's cook, glittering with silver and gleaming with gold. The lettering read "MANY HAPPY RETURNS OF YOUR MAJESTY'S BIRTHDAY AND A LONG AND PROSPEROUS REIGN." His Majesty was slightly jealous since he was hoping that the 'long' would really be 'short'. But he was extremely gracious to his nephew, who received not only the bicycle from Quangle, a football from Her Majesty, a radio-controlled aeroplane from His Majesty, and a number of interesting and really well-chosen books from the Prime Minister - but also the most extraordinary present from the Yellow Dandelion.