In his room, with heavy curtains closely drawn across the barred windows to keep from his ears the distant mutterings of the guns, Nicholas of Reist sat in torment. From below in the square he had heard the people’s farewell to the King as he had hastened back to the scene of action—the echoes of the city’s varying moods floated up to him from hour to hour. And whilst all was activity, ceaseless, restless, he alone of the men of Theos sat idle, his hands before him, waiting for he knew not what. It was indeed torment. The blood of his fighting forefathers was burning in his veins. To linger here in miserable inaction whilst the war music throbbed in his ears was like torture to him. Even Domiloff had found it best for the last few days to leave him alone. Besides, Domiloff was busy.

In a small room at the back of the house the Russian was receiving a visitor. Before the door were half-a-dozen soldiers, and the bolts were closely drawn. Yet even then the conversation between the two men was tense and nervous.

“To have ventured here yourself,” Domiloff said, drawing the shade more closely over the lamp, “seems to me, my dear Hassen, a little like bravado. You hold the wits of this people a little too cheaply. I am not yet strong enough to protect you. If you are recognized you will be shot at sight.”

“One runs risks always,” the other answered carelessly, “and besides it is your fault that I am here. Your inaction is unaccountable. There has been no message from you for three days. I am afraid that you are bungling matters.”

“And you—what of you?” the other answered, hotly. “What were your men doing at Solika to be driven back by a handful of half-trained farmers? I expected the Turks at Theos to-day, and all would have been well. Yet with eighty thousand men you do nothing. You too who have boasted of your soldiers and your artillery as the equal of any in Europe.”

The visitor shrugged his shoulders.

“Domiloff,” he said, “you are irritated and nervous. Be careful what you say. I admit that so far we have been checked, but it is not sense to talk of half-trained farmers. Ughtred of Tyrnaus is a fine soldier. Mind, I was with him in Egypt, and he had a sound training there. His dispositions against attack are excellent. He has evidently been thinking them out since first he came here. Then you told us that he had no modern artillery at all.”

“He had not, then,” Domiloff answered. “These batteries were a present from a rich fool of an American or his daughter.”

“The fair Sara Van Decht! I heard that she was here.”

“You know her?”

“She visited at Colonel Erlito’s in London,” Hassen answered. “So did I. But that is of no consequence. You very well know that we relied upon your help to finish this campaign quickly. So far you have done nothing. Perhaps you do not understand the reason for haste. Let me tell you this. Even now the message is before the Sultan waiting for his signature which will recall the troops and bring the invasion to an end.”

“Gorteneff is in Constantinople himself,” Domiloff answered. “He will not allow it to be signed.”

“Gorteneff! So is Sir Henry White in Constantinople. You seem to forget that.”

Domiloff’s face was black.

“White! The Englishman! Bah! You will not tell me that your master fears the English any more. Their day is over. They have no longer a place amongst the Powers.”

Hassen smiled.

“You exaggerate,” he said. “England is the only country in Europe at least who could bring our master’s palace about his ears in twenty-four hours, and make beautiful Constantinople a heap of blackened ruins. No, no, Domiloff. My master is wishful to serve you. We are here—so far we have done all the work—it is for your aid now we ask. That is only fair. You do not seem to understand the real reason for haste. I know that at any moment the protest which White has already presented may be followed by an ultimatum.”

“And your master would regard it?”

“I am very sure that he would,” Hassen answered, promptly. “It is not worth while attempting to deceive you. If England is really no longer a country worthy of consideration, fight her yourself. I am very sure that we shall not. And you must remember this, Domiloff, the agitation throughout England in favour of Theos is fed day by day with letters from this very city. The writer must be with you all the time. Yet you permit him to continue—you with your unscrupulousness and your secret agents. England’s intervention, if she does intervene, is entirely your fault.”

“Damn that fellow,” Domiloff muttered through his teeth.

“You know who it is!” Hassen exclaimed.

“Yes!”

“And you permit him to continue? You have made no effort to close his mouth?”

“Oh, I have tried,” Domiloff answered, hastily. “He is an Englishman, and he cannot be bought. He will not listen to reason. And so far as regards other means we have been unfortunate. He has a hat with two bullet holes in it.”

Hassen caught up his hat.

“Oh, I think that it is of no use my staying here,” he said. “The Domiloff I have heard of and used to know is not any more in existence. That is very certain. You have let the man write these letters day by day; you have had him within the city all this time, and all that you can tell me is that ‘he has a hat with two bullet holes in,’ ‘you have been unfortunate.’ Bah! The man who makes history is not the man who fails in a trifle like that.”

Domiloff ground his teeth together, but he kept his temper.

“My friend,” he said, “that is all very well. But you do not understand everything. This man is the lover of the Countess of Reist. Any hurt to him would be a mortal affront to her.”

“Cannot she make him hold his tongue?” Hassen asked. “If he is her lover she should surely be able to bring him to our side. The girl is pretty enough. Surely the Englishman is not a Joseph?”

“He is English, and that is worse,” Domiloff answered. “But this very day we caught him here in this house. She appealed to him—offered him every inducement, implored him to cease those letters. His obstinacy was amazing. Neither my threats nor her prayers and promises availed. I ordered him to be seized, and then what must she do but turn round and swear that if he were touched she would go to the King—and she would have done it.”

“So he got away?”

“He got away.”

Hassen groaned.

“Domiloff,” he said, “it is farewell. I do not come again. Our compact is at an end. You are getting old, Domiloff. The days at Stamboul are long past. ‘He got away.’ A change like this in a man is marvellous.”

Domiloff stood before the door. He was very pale, and his face was not pleasant to look upon.

“Stay where you are, Hassen,” he said. “You have come here, it seems, to reproach me for inaction, for not having helped you sufficiently from within the city. Well, it is possible that I have relied too much upon the result of your coming into touch with the Thetians. I expected your army here before this, Hassen. However, you did not come here only to complain, eh? You have a suggestion perhaps. Well, let me hear it. As for the Englishman, I will risk the anger of Marie of Reist. He shall not write another letter. Now what beyond that? I am ready. The city is full of my agents. If only I were to give the word, Hassen, you would never leave the city alive.”

Hassen laughed scornfully.

“I have passed through the Thetian lines,” he said, “and made my way alone here, so it is not likely that death could come nearer to me than this. But, Domiloff, you talk now more like a man. I will admit that what you said is truth. I have come here with a scheme in mind, and it is a good scheme.”

“Then waste no more time,” Domiloff said, quickly, “go on.”

“There is in it,” Hassen said, “a personal element. In truth my master has disappointed me in this campaign. I should have been given the entire command, and instead I have only a corps. Now I am stationed, as you know, not at Solika, but at Althea. Therefore, it is my men whom I would like to bring into Theos whilst Mellet Pascha, who has my place, is still held back at Solika.”

Domiloff nodded.

“That is reasonable,” he said, “but the Althea passes are impregnable. I do not think that they can be taken by assault at all.”

“Nor I,” Hassen answered, dryly. “I want a safe conduct through them.”

Domiloff looked up quickly.

“I see. But Klipper, who is in command there, is incorruptible.”

“Klipper must be removed then. Now what about the Duke of Reist, Domiloff? He is on our side, is he not?”

“He is on our side,” Domiloff answered, slowly, “but unfortunately he has quarrelled with the King. He is in the house at this moment.”

“Quarrelled? What folly. Domiloff, you seem to have bungled everything you have touched lately. What is the good of Reist to us when he sits here sulking?”

“The good of him,” Domiloff repeated. “Why he is to be our puppet King—for a month or so. He is simply invaluable. Besides, his absence from the army has set people talking about the King. It has created dissatisfaction.”

“That is all very well, Domiloff,” Hassen said, “but have you ever considered how very much more useful Reist would be to us if he were outwardly on friendly terms with the King, near him now and at the head of his men—and all the time ours?”

“It is without doubt true, but you do not know Nicholas of Reist,” Domiloff said, dryly. “He is not of the stuff from which conspirators are fashioned. This quarrel with the King has cost me endless trouble. He would never play a traitor’s part, as he would call it, secretly.”

Hassen smiled grimly.

“Listen, Domiloff,” he said. “If Nicholas of Reist were to go to the King and hold out his hand, and beg his pardon, would the King receive him?”

“Of course.”

“Would he give him the command at Althea if he were to ask for it?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Then he must ask for it and get it. Then I will talk to him if you find him so difficult. These are not times for neutrality. He must be for the King or against the King. With the Althean passes unguarded for an hour the thing is done. Then there can be as much intervention as you like. Theos will be ours.”

Domiloff stood silent, with knitted brows and downcast eyes.

“The scheme is good,” he said, “but I fear very much whether Reist will consent.”

“He will have to,” Hassen answered, coolly. “He is your man, is he not? He has already committed himself too deeply to draw back. You can show him that it is for the salvation of Theos.”

“You shall show him yourself,” Domiloff answered. “I will take you to him. You will understand then the mood of the man with whom we have to deal.”

Hassen held up his hand.

“You forget,” he said. “The Duke of Reist and I are ancient enemies. I was in command when we raided the frontier ten years ago. Perhaps my men were a little rough to their prisoners—I forget the circumstances now, but there was trouble between us.”

Domiloff shrugged his shoulders.

“So was I his enemy a short time ago,” he answered. “It is barely a month since the name of a Russian was like poison to him. But those things are forgotten now. Reist is ours—absolutely. Our friends must be his friends, and our enemies his. So I shall take you to him. Believe me, it will be best.”

Even then Hassen hesitated. The memory of Reist’s outburst in London was still before him. But Domiloff had already opened the door.

“Come,” he said, softly, “I know that Reist is alone.”