Free B-Berry and I Look Back by Dornford Yates Page B

ill on the Thursday and left for Cholmondeley Street on the following day. You went straight to the Club, to get the latest news. After a while you rang up, to say you were dining there. And you came back soon after midnight, to say he was dead.”
    Berry nodded.
    “It was a bad day for England. So long as he lived, Germany dared not make war. The Kaiser feared his great personality. If he’d lived six years longer, the Kaiser would have been out. His own people were sick of the tiresome mountebank. He had erected a lot of statues of his ancestors, real and imaginary, in the Tiergarten of Berlin. Three months before war broke out, every one was defaced. I saw the King’s funeral cortège pass up St James’s Street. It was a flawless, summer’s day. Eight Kings rode behind the gun-carriage – it may have been nine. Not in ranks – they all went by in a bevy, a truly historical sight. And Caesar, his wire-haired terrier, was led by a Highlander directly in front of them. The cortège was headed, of course, by the Earl Marshal, the father of the present Duke. He had a truly mediaeval beard and he looked like something out of the picture-books. And now we must get back to Cheiro.”
    “One minute,” said Jill. “You saw Queen Victoria’s funeral?”
    “Yes,” said Berry, “I did. That was in January – a cold, grey, very gloomy day, with a promise of snow. I remember King Edward riding behind the gun-carriage, with the Kaiser on his right and the Prince of Wales on his left. It was not a brilliant sight, for all the troops were cloaked or were wearing their great coats; but it was most impressive.”
    “Was the King wearing his cloak?”
    “I think so. I can’t be sure. But, if he was, it was open. I remember his scarlet tunic very well – and how he diminished the Kaiser, riding beside. For all his airs, the latter looked as if he was playing a part, as, of course, he was. But the King was the real thing. It’s the only time I ever saw him on horseback: but he looked magnificent.”
    “Wasn’t there some trouble with the horses drawing the gun-carriage?”
    “Yes. But that was at Windsor. The second gun-carriage had been waiting for the train to arrive, and the horses were cold. When all was ready the signal was given for the cortège to start. At once all sorts of orders rang out. Now the leaders of the gun-carriage waited for their particular order, ‘Walk march’: but the wheelers heard the other orders and, impatient because they were cold, acted on them. And the weight was too great for two horses, and so the traces snapped. There were no spare traces, and a very steep hill to come. Prince Louis of Battenburg at once suggested that the naval guard of honour should take the horses’ place. But there were no ropes. However, they managed with what was left of the traces. But they had three sailors on each wheel, in case the traces snapped.”
    “What a most unfortunate show,” said Jonah.
    “Yes, it was. For the troops ahead went on, not knowing that anything was wrong. They were very soon stopped, of course. There was a delay of about ten minutes. Everyone was very sorry for the Gunners, who were mortified to death. And now we simply must get back to Cheiro.
    “It was Madame de — who introduced me to Cheiro. She dabbled in palmistry and expressed some interest in my hand. So she wrote to Cheiro and asked him to see me when I was next in Town. She had known Cheiro for years, and he certainly had a great regard for her. I rather imagine she had helped him, when he was still unknown. And this was what she told me of how he came to start. I’ve only her word for it, but I believe it to be true.
    “As a young Irishman, Cheiro had just enough to live on, but nothing to spare. Then he was left a respectable legacy. This he decided to blow on seeing the world. So he wandered across the Continent, where he met Madame de — , and presently fetched up at Cairo, to stay at Shepheards Hotel. One night he