Once more the men and women of Theos thronged the streets of their time-worn capital. A thousand torches flared in the open space before the palace. Lanterns and flags waved from all the principal houses and public buildings. Only the great Reist mansion was silent and gloomy, and many questioning eyes were turned towards it.

“It was the Duke himself who has brought Ughtred of Tyrnaus here,” muttered one. “Yet his house is dark and empty, and no man has seen him.”

“There is something strange about it,” said another, “and I like not the wolf Domiloff at the shoulder of a Tyrnaus.”

“Please God, the son may not be like the father!”

“Let us see him,” cried another. “Come—shout!”

So the air shook with the roar of voices, and servants in the blue Tyrnaus livery came out upon the balcony of the brilliantly-lit palace and spread a carpet. But the man whom they longed to see lingered.

Domiloff argued with him in vain. He was unaccountably obstinate.

“It is the Duke of Reist who should stand by my side when first I speak to my people,” he declared, coolly. “It is he who brought me from England, not you. He must be my sponsor. If he is not here I will wait.”

Domiloff was naturally furious. He had been at considerable pains to insure the absence of Reist from the capital on this occasion, and his inopportune return would amount to a disaster. On the other hand, the populace were fast working themselves up into a state of frenzy. Let this man show himself, and the success of his coup was assured. It was unpardonable hesitation. He trembled with rage. In the King’s palace, in his own chamber, he had lost for the moment his hold upon this man. It was the one weak spot in his carefully thought-out scheme. It was the one contingency against which he was comparatively helpless.

“You are losing a golden opportunity, Prince,” he declared. “Your hesitation is a crime. The people are on fire to see you. They will shout you King with one voice. Give to Reist all the glory if you will, but, if you would win your kingdom, out on to the balcony and show yourself. Hear them!”

The roar of voices sounded like thunder from the street below. Brand smoked on stolidly.

“I shall wait one hour for the Duke of Reist,” he decided. “At the end of that time, if he has not arrived, I will reconsider the matter.”

Domiloff, who did not expect the Duke of Reist in an hour, was forced to acquiesce.

“I will send messengers out amongst the people,” he said. “I will let them know that you are worn out with travelling, but that in an hour you will address them. Shall it be so?”

“You can do as you like,” Brand answered, quietly. “I make no promises.”

Domiloff withdrew, furious. Brand was left alone. He was a journalist of the modern type, and he had been in a good many tight corners. His nerves were of iron, his courage indomitable, and his sense of humour prodigious. But this was getting beyond a joke. He was in a cul-de-sac. Escape was scarcely to be hoped for, disclosure would certainly cost him his life. Nevertheless, as the roar of voices mounted again to his ears the corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes shone with laughter. He found himself longing for pen and paper, wondering how much of this he dare use as copy. Then the clock struck. He became instantly grave. After all, an hour was a short time. He concentrated his thoughts once more upon the situation.

On one point he was resolved. He would not carry his personation any further. He would not present himself to the people of Theos as an impostor, with Domiloff for his introducer, and unable to frame a single sentence in the language of his supposed forefathers. The speech which Domiloff had written out for him was, of course, an impossibility. Some time to-night the Prince and Reist must surely arrive, and the situation then might become possible. Failing that, he could see nothing but chaos.

Half-an-hour had passed, but he was not greatly disturbed. He had a touch of that beautiful faith which is the heritage of the born adventurer. He was content to wait for something to turn up. He threw away the end of his cigar and walked slowly up and down the great vaulted room. The ceiling was of extraordinary height, and the wooden panels which covered the walls were black with age and beautifully carved. He paused before one of them to examine the design, and passed his fingers lightly over the figure of a priest who knelt by the side of a wounded man in armour. It was a rugged but wonderful representation. Suddenly he started back as though he had been shot. The priest was being split down the middle before his eyes.

He stood rigid. Even his nerves were scarcely proof against this sort of thing. The head of the wounded knight had parted from his body, and the legs of the priest were every moment drawing further apart. He approached the panel gingerly. It was not fancy. There was a long, thin crack from the floor to the tapestry border, which stood about six feet high. Whilst he watched, it widened. He slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out his revolver.

From one inch to two—to half a foot, and then wide open, the panel slid back. Brand uttered a soft cry of amazement. A woman, dark, slender, and beautiful, stood upon the threshold of what seemed to be a passage, herself almost as motionless as a painted figure. Her eyes met his with a challenging light, her pose was imperious. Diamonds flashed from her neck and bosom, and her hair was coiled upon her head coronet-like, after the manner of the women of Theos. Her black gown was cut in a manner unknown to western dressmakers—to Brand she seemed like a wonderful Italian picture of the middle ages stepped bodily from its frame. He lowered his revolver, and took a quick step backward. Then to his surprise, she spoke to him in English, haltingly, but with perfect distinctness.

“Lock the door.”

The sound of his native language made a new man of Brand. His senses were no longer dazed.

“It is—already locked,” he answered.

She took a step forward, and before he could divine her purpose sank gently on one knee in a wonderful courtesy. He took the slim white hand, and bowed low over it.

“You are Ughtred of Tyrnaus?” she said, eagerly. “Is it not so?”

He laughed quietly.

“It is the first time,” he said, “that I have been asked the question. Personation seems to come natural to me.”

She looked at him intently, and the fine, dark eyebrows were drawn a little closer together.

“I am not very quick at speaking English,” she said. “You are Ughtred of Tyrnaus?”

“Well, I am supposed to be,” he admitted.

“Then where is my brother?” she demanded. “Why is he not with you?”

He looked at her, puzzled.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I am rather stupid. What is your brother’s name, and who are you?”

Her eyes gleamed with suspicion. Was it not obvious who she was?

“I am the Countess Marie of Reist,” she said. “Will you answer me quickly?”

He divined the likeness at once.

“And do you live—in the wall?” he asked.

She frowned imperiously.

“If you indeed are Ughtred of Tyrnaus,” she said, “you should know that the Reist house adjoins the palace, and that this passage has been in existence since the days of King Rudolph. Tell me what you have done with my brother Nicholas, and how it happens that you have entered the city without him, and in company with Domiloff the wolf.”

He smiled. His optimism was justified. Something had turned up.

“You must allow me to make a confession, Countess,” he said, easily. “I am not Ughtred of Tyrnaus. The Prince is on his way to the city with your brother, and, to tell you the truth, if they do not arrive here very soon my position will become extremely uncomfortable.”

She withdrew within the shelter of the panel and regarded him haughtily.

“You say that you are not Ughtred of Tyrnaus,” she exclaimed. “Then who are you? An impostor! Yes! You are in the royal chamber, and even now the people call for you. You are a tool of Domiloff’s. Good! The people shall know that they are being deceived!”

He was only just in time to seize her by the wrist. She wrenched herself free with a furious little cry, but he blocked her escape.

“Countess,” he said, with perfect respect, but with a gleam of laughter in his eyes, “pray do not desert me, for I am a friend of your brother’s, and especially of Prince Ughtred’s. I am not masquerading for the fun of the thing, I can assure you, but solely to outwit Domiloff. Permit me to explain, The fact is, I need your help.”

She eyed him coldly. The touch of his fingers seemed burning still upon her wrist.

“Well?”

“Three of us left England together,” Brand said. “Your brother, Prince Ughtred, and myself—Walter Brand, a newspaper writer and a person of no importance. I won’t stop to tell you how I became one of the party. It isn’t of any consequence, and time is. I happen to slightly resemble Prince Ughtred, and we got scent of a plot to stop our entrance into Theos. Well, Prince Ughtred and I exchanged identities. The consequences were these. The Prince and your brother left the train secretly before we left the frontier, I was drugged, and awoke to find myself tÊte-À-tÊte with a remarkably gentlemanly personage called Domiloff.”

Her eyes flashed fire. She came a little further into the room.

“Ah! Well!”

“He took me for granted in the kindest possible manner—waived aside the matter of my abduction—affected to consider me as an afternoon caller. He introduced politics in a casual sort of way. Russia I found was the great and generous friend of Theos. Russia was pining for the friendship of Theos.”

She interrupted him with a fierce little gesture of contempt.

“The hound! Russia is our enemy! It was she who sought to buy our freedom from Metzger, the merchant, for a million pounds.”

He nodded.

“Exactly. However, I had to listen to him. In the end he produced a treaty—Russian protection for Theos in exchange for every shred of independence she possessed. If I would swear before witnesses to sign it when I became King, I might proceed, and Domiloff himself would be my escort. If I refused—well, I think then that other things were in store for me. After a becoming show of hesitation I promised to sign—when I was King. Then Domiloff hustled me along here. I have delayed things as long as possible, but it’s getting a little uncomfortable. Domiloff can’t understand why I won’t go and speak to the people. If I declare myself, he will shoot me on sight. What I have been praying for is a chance to escape, or that your brother and the Prince might turn up.”

She regarded him with unfeigned admiration.

“I did you an injustice,” she said. “I see that you are a very brave man, and we in Theos love brave men.”

He bowed before her so gallantly and looked into her eyes so closely that a wave of colour flushed in her cheeks. A distant sound in the Palace, however, brought them to a swift sense of the danger which threatened him.

“You see,” he explained, “I was bound to keep it up as long as I could, or Domiloff would have tried to prevent your brother and the Prince from reaching the capital. Besides, since I have read the proposed treaty they would never allow me to escape alive.”

She nodded slowly.

“Yes, that is so. It would not be well that you speak first to the people with Domiloff at your elbow, but if it comes to a matter of life or death you must do it. I will send servants and horses to hasten my brother’s coming, and you must continue the personation.”

“There is an objection,” he replied, quickly. “I do not know a single word of your language, and to speak for the first time to the people in any other would do the Prince a great injury with them.”

She reflected for a moment. Then her face lit up. She pointed down the passage.

“I think,” she said, “that it would be a very good time for Prince Ughtred to disappear. You shall come with me.”

Brand hesitated.

“But, Countess,” he protested, “they will search your house. You will be accused of harbouring an impostor.”

She dismissed the idea with a gesture of superb contempt.

“The Reist House,” she assured him, “is secure against Domiloff or any of his creatures. I offer you its shelter, sir. I beg you to come with me.”

Still he hesitated. A fresh murmur arose from the swelling crowd without—footsteps were heard in the corridor—the hour struck. She laid her fingers upon his arm, and looked upward into his face.

“Sir,” she said, softly, “I beg that you will come with me.”

Brand felt his heart beating with more than the mere excitement of the moment. He yielded. She pressed a spring with her finger, and the panel rolled slowly back into its place.