There was a sharp tap at the door. Marie and her brother exchanged quick glances. Brand stepped forward, but Marie waved him back.

“Who is there?” she called out.

“It is I, Baron Domiloff,” was the suave answer. “I regret very much to intrude, but I have urgent business with your friend Mr. Brand. Can I come in?”

She hesitated. After all, any attempt to keep him out must be futile.

“You can come in,” she answered.

The door opened, and Domiloff entered. He bowed low before the Countess, but there was an evil smile upon his lips when his eyes met Brand’s.

“This is a very fortunate meeting, Mr. Brand,” he declared. “It saves us the trouble of searching for you. Only an hour ago, my dear sir, the Countess and I were speaking of you.”

“So far as the Countess was concerned,” Brand answered, dryly, “I am honoured.”

Domiloff shrugged his shoulders. He turned to Nicholas with a smile which was meant to be good-humoured.

“Mr. Brand imagines perhaps that I bear him some ill-will for that previous little rencontre between us, in which, by the bye, I must admit that I had very much the worst of it. I can assure him most sincerely that it is not so.”

Brand shrugged his shoulders.

“We have met since then, Baron Domiloff, I think,” he said, “and even you must admit that a revolver bullet through one’s hat is scarcely a message of good will.”

Domiloff was bewildered. Was this a joke, or was his friend—his very good friend, Mr. Walter Brand—under some hallucination? Brand turned from him impatiently.

“The matter is not one which will repay discussion,” he said. “Countess, I regret that I must offer you my adieux.”

Domiloff held up his hand.

“One moment,” he said, persuasively. “We are all three here together now, and the opportunity is too excellent to be lost. The Duke of Reist, the Countess, and I have something in common to say to you. You will spare us a few moments—and your best attention, my dear Mr. Brand.”

“By all means,” Brand answered. “‘Something in common’ to say to me sounds interesting. I am at your service.”

“It concerns the daily letters which you cable from here to London on behalf of the newspaper to which you are attached,” Domiloff said, slowly.

“Indeed,” Brand answered. “I am flattered that you should have troubled to read them.”

“From a literary point of view,” Domiloff admitted, “they are admirable. Politically I regret to say that we find them mischievous.”

Brand laughed scornfully.

“Perhaps you are not altogether an impartial judge,” he remarked. “Will you proceed, please?”

“Those letters, I am afraid, must be discontinued,” Domiloff said.

Brand stared at him.

“Don’t talk rubbish,” he exclaimed. “‘Must be discontinued,’ indeed! Why, I consider your objection to them the highest compliment which I could possibly receive. As if anything which you could say would make me alter my views.”

Domiloff smiled. It was a very faint, but a very evil smile.

“It is not,” he protested, “what I might say, but what I might do. I take it for granted that either the Duke of Reist or the Countess has spoken with you on this matter, and I will not therefore waste my breath. It is sufficient to tell you this! Your present attitude is harmful to what we consider the best interests of Theos. You must either undertake to send no more cables or remain here as our prisoner.”

Brand glanced towards the Countess, and in his eyes there was a merciless inquisitive light.

“So I am in a nest of conspirators,” he remarked, dryly. “There is no longer any doubt about it. I do not know, Baron Domiloff, what magic you use to pervert honest men, but your success is certainly astounding. Now let me pass.”

With a quick movement his revolver flashed out, and Domiloff was covered. Perfectly self-possessed, the Russian bowed, and stood away from the door, but Brand reached it only to be confronted by half-a-dozen naked sabres. The landing was held by a small company of Russian soldiers.

“For the protection of the Russian Embassy,” Baron Domiloff remarked, sardonically. “Now, Mr. Brand, will you put your revolver away, and listen to reason?”

Brand turned to Marie. He was white with rage.

“Countess,” he demanded. “I entered this room at your invitation. Was this arranged for? Is this a trap of your setting?”

A little cry of pain broke from her lips. She recovered herself almost immediately.

“Did I know,” she asked, “that you were coming?”

He was silent. In his heart he had already absolved her.

“Countess,” he said, “forgive me. I spoke hastily. Duke of Reist, I appeal to you. This is your house, and I entered it openly and upon a legitimate errand. I remained here as your guest. I demand a safe conduct from it. Order that man to remove his soldiers.”

Marie stepped forward.

“Nicholas,” she cried, “he is right. We cannot have the Reist house turned into a nest of brigands. Baron Domiloff, these are my apartments. Your presence is an intrusion which I do not choose to tolerate. Be so good as to withdraw and take your men with you.”

“My dear lady,” he declared, “it is impossible.”

A fierce answer trembled upon Marie’s lips, but Nicholas held out his hand.

“Silence, Marie,” he said. “Mr. Brand has made an appeal which it is very difficult for me to ignore. He is under my roof, and to some extent he is entitled to my protection. But there are limits to the obligations even of hospitality. There have been things spoken of in his presence which must not be repeated.”

“The safety and welfare of Theos,” Domiloff said, solemnly, “must eclipse all other considerations. Mr. Brand came here of his own accord.”

Reist turned to Brand.

“Are you prepared,” he said, “to keep silence as to all that has transpired since you crossed the threshold of this house? I will be content with your word of honour.”

“No!” Brand answered, firmly. “I cannot make any such promise.”

Marie turned upon them both with flaming cheeks.

“Let the King know all,” she cried. “What does it matter now? This is my house, as well as yours, Nicholas, and I say that Mr. Brand shall leave it when and how he pleases. Baron Domiloff, I order you to withdraw, and take your soldiers with you.”

But Domiloff only shook his head.

“Countess,” he said, “for your brother’s sake and the sake of Theos I cannot do as you ask. This man’s silence for a few days at least is the one thing necessary to secure our success.”

“Then my silence will be the silence of death,” Brand answered, fiercely. “If you will not let me pass peaceably, I shall fight my way as far as I am able. Stand away, Domiloff. You cursed spy.”

Marie sprang between them. She pushed Brand back.

“Nicholas,” she said, “this is not your affair. It is between Baron Domiloff and myself. You recognize that?”

“Entirely!” he answered.

“Then will you leave it in my hands?” she begged.

He hesitated for a moment, but a glance into her face reassured him.

“I am content,” he said, and left them.

She turned to Domiloff.

“Baron,” she said, “if you do not let Mr. Brand pass unhurt our compact is at an end.”

He held up his hands in eager expostulation.

“I wish your friend no harm, Countess,” he declared, “but believe me, his reports are doing us every possible injury. Besides, he will carry word of this to the King. It is impossible to let him go. I will withdraw my men if you like, while you reason with him. It is his silence only we require.”

She turned to Brand.

“You hear?”

He nodded.

“My silence,” he answered, “is not to be bought. The King is my friend, and his cause is mine. Apart from that it is my duty as an honest man to upset the scheming of such rogues as that,” he pointed to Domiloff. “In two minutes, Countess, I shall leave this room—dead or alive.”

Domiloff was very pale, but he remained calm. Marie left him and placed her hands in Brand’s. She looked up into his face fondly.

“You are quite right,” she said. “I honour you for your words.”

Then she turned to Domiloff.

“Listen,” she said. “You will permit Mr. Brand to pass uninjured, or I shall go at once to Nicholas, and tell him not only all that I know, but what I suspect. You understand me! I shall tell him—the whole truth. I go also to the King, and I tell him—the whole truth. I go also to the House of Laws, I anticipate your proclamation to them, and I announce—the whole truth. These are not empty threats. I swear to you that I will do these things.”

Domiloff regarded her thoughtfully. His expression was inscrutable.

“You will not risk the success of all our plans,” he said, slowly. “You will even sacrifice your country that this man may go safely. You are serious? It is in your mind that you are the Countess Marie of Reist, and he—the paid writer in an English newspaper. Forgive me that I speak of this. It is incredible.”

“It is nevertheless true,” she answered, firmly. “Your answer.”

He bowed low.

“Mr. Walter Brand,” he said, “is fortunate. He is welcome to depart.”

“Wait!”

She crossed the room, and from a cedar box on the mantelshelf drew out a small shining revolver. She stood facing Domiloff.

“My friend,” she said, “so I shall remain until Mr. Brand has left the house and waves to me from the street below. And if there is treachery I give you my word that I shall fire. You have seen me use a revolver. You know that this is not play with me.”

“Mr. Brand,” he repeated, “is fortunate indeed.”