The storm had driven away the crowd of loiterers from in front of the CafÉ Metropolitan. The King and Brand stood under one of the small lime trees which bordered the road, watching the place. The lower room, unshuttered, and lit with several flaring gas jets, was filled with a crowd of men drinking and singing songs. From the upper windows came no sign of life.

“That is where I believe that Domiloff is hiding,” Brand declared. “Do you see what a rabble that is inside the cafÉ?”

The King nodded.

“Russian Jews, every one of them,” he said. “Anyhow, there are too many of them for us to enter the place single-handed.

“Brand, take one of the horses, and ride to the barracks. Bring down a guard of twenty-five men. I will wait here.”

Brand nodded, and hurried away to the corner of the street, where they had left the horses. The King lit a cigar, shielding the light as much as possible with his hand, and leaned against the trunk of the tree.

Five minutes passed, ten, a quarter of an hour. The King, whose thoughts were none of the pleasantest, grew impatient. Suddenly, the cigar dropped from his fingers. He sprang forward with beating heart, bewildered, incredulous. For he had seen a strange thing.

Up at that dark, unlit window had flashed for a moment the pale, terror-stricken face of a woman, drawn back almost at once by an unseen hand. The echoes of her passionate cry for help rang still in his ears. And, strangest thing of all, the face was the face of Marie of Reist.

Ughtred forgot then that he was a King, and that his life was a pledge to his country. He remembered only that he was a man of more than ordinary strength, and that from that dreary little room a woman was calling to him for help. In the passage the few loiterers who disputed his way were brushed on one side like flies. He sprang up the little staircase, which creaked under his weight, in half-a-dozen bounds. The girl’s cries were plainly to be heard now. He thundered upon the door.

There came for a moment no answer. The girl’s cry was stifled, as though by a rough hand.

“Let me in,” Ughtred cried. “At once.”

There came no answer save a man’s muttered curse and the sound of footsteps. Ughtred was wearing his military riding boots, and the door was crazy and old. A single charge, and it went crashing into the room. Ughtred stumbled, and saved his life, for a bullet whistled just over his head as Domiloff sprang to the window.

Marie, breathless and dishevelled, recognized Ughtred with a cry of wonder.

“The King!” she exclaimed, and Domiloff, who might have escaped, looked round and hesitated. Ughtred, who was as quick as lightning upon his feet, snatched him back from the window-sill and threw him heavily upon the floor.

There was no time for explanations. Through the dÉbris of the door there sprang into the room half-a-dozen of the loiterers from the room below. They faced the King, standing like a giant in the centre of the floor with his long military sword flashing grey in the dim light.

“Be off,” he cried. “This is not your affair. I do not wish to hurt any of you, but I will kill the first man who comes a yard further.”

They hung back, but one remained looking about him with crafty, peering eyes, his long upper teeth gleaming like yellow fangs. His hand lurked about his tunic.

“Little master,” he said, “tell us what has happened here? There is a man hurt. What have you done to him?”

Ughtred’s sword was within an inch of the man’s chest.

“The man is unhurt and my prisoner,” Ughtred said.

“Your prisoner, little master. My eyes are bad, and the light is dim. Who are you to come here and make prisoners?”

“I am the King,” Ughtred answered, rashly.

There were those who knew him. There was a murmur which was like a growl, and Ughtred hesitated no longer, but ran his sword through the man whose knife was already stealing from his tunic. He fell back with a shriek of horror, and the King himself in grievous danger, wrenched his sword free. There were half-a-dozen knives raised, and one must have struck into his chest. But Marie, stooping down, had seized Domiloff’s revolver, and, leaning over, shot the man through the heart. The King, who had recovered his balance, sprang amongst them, and they scattered like rabbits. Then came a great cry from down-stairs.

“The soldiers! Quick! Save yourself.”

They fled without waiting for a parting stroke. Ughtred lowered his sword and let them pass. There were three dead and wounded in the room, and Domiloff lay on his back where the King had thrown him. The King turned to Marie.

“You are a brave woman,” he said. “You have saved both our lives.”

But she held out both her hands to him, and her eyes were streaming.

“Your Majesty has saved more than my life,” she faltered, “and I have not deserved it. I have been your enemy.”

He took her hands gently.

“We have fought together,” he said. “Henceforth we should be comrades.”

Eleven men sat around a long table in one of the rooms of the Reist house. They talked only in whispers, and a general air of uneasiness was apparent. It was rumoured that the King was in the city, and these men felt themselves to be conspirators. Domiloff was strangely absent. The Countess of Reist in her own house had omitted to offer them a welcome.

Their suspense was temporarily ended, however. The door opened, and Baron Doxis entered, followed by a foreigner, whom most of them recognized. They rose to their feet. Baron Doxis presented the guest.

“My colleagues,” he announced, “this is Monsieur Gourdolis, the accredited envoy of the Czar to us. He has certain proposals to submit upon which we will at once debate.”

A Counsellor rose up.

“Has the Countess of Reist any message to us from her brother?”

“The Countess of Reist,” Baron Doxis answered, “is unaccountably absent.”

“And Domiloff?” another asked. “It is chiefly owing to his representations that we are assembled here to-day. Is he too absent?”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Gourdolis spoke.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “my friend Domiloff will be with us doubtless before this meeting is dissolved. In the meantime, I will, with your permission, lay before you the terms on which my august master the Czar is willing to stay the hand of Turkey, by force if necessary, and guarantee your independence.”

Some heavy curtains at the end of the room were suddenly thrown aside. The King stood there, and by his side Marie of Reist.

“My arrival, it would appear, is opportune,” the King said, grimly. “Address yourself to me, and proceed, Monsieur Gourdolis.”