There lay the body of the King of Asturia without a doubt. The first painful shock of surprise over, Lechmere was his cool prudent self again. He knew that Loti was watching him, so it behoved him to be careful. He bent down and made a long examination of the body. He would have given much at this moment for a few words with Peretori, but the latter seemed to have vanished and apparently had repudiated any further responsibility after sending the telegram. But then perhaps Peretori was playing some game of his own.

"Do you know anything about this gentleman?" he asked of Loti.

The ragged peasant shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Obviously the man had no suspicions that he was so closely on the fringe of an international tragedy. He was quite sure that the disaster to the special had not come about by accident and he murmured something about socialists. So long as he was well paid for what he was doing, his services could be relied upon.

"There is more money for you, here," Lechmere said, placing the soundest argument before the peasant, "if you are silent. If you go to the police now they will ask awkward questions. And they will pay you nothing. Can you procure a plain coffin and convey the body by road to, say, Amiens? Only the coffin must be packed in another case so as to disguise what it is, and I will give you the name and address whereby I can pick up the case to-morrow. If you can do this thing for me I will pay you no less a sum than two thousand francs."

Loti's eyes gleamed. Such a sum was beyond his wildest dreams. It would make him independent for the rest of his life. He nodded eagerly.

"Well, that is settled," Lechmere proceeded. "Listen. Later on in the day I will give you the address to be placed on the case. Bring me back the receipt from the railway people at Amiens and the money is yours in cash, so that no suspicion need be excited. I will meet you here to-morrow at the same time. You quite understand?"

Loti nodded, his eyes were gleaming like stars. It was obvious that he understood perfectly. Lechmere made his way back to the cottage where he had obtained shelter, and there wrote a long letter to the Head of the Police in Paris. This he despatched by special parcel so that it would be delivered in the course of the afternoon. He waited till dark before setting out with the object of seeing Maxwell and Alexis. There was considerable danger in this course, seeing that Mazaroff was close at hand, and, above all things, Lechmere had no idea of being seen by the Russian.

That the train had been deliberately and wantonly wrecked with a view to preventing the journey of the king to Asturia, Lechmere knew quite well. To further their own design these people had taken no heed of human life, they had stopped at nothing. And yet their plan had not been carried out quite so successfully as they had hoped though a great meed of triumph had been theirs. No doubt Mazaroff was hanging about the neighbourhood to report progress. But Mazaroff would be puzzled and rendered somewhat uneasy by the strange disappearance of the king. That he was dead the Russian could not possibly know or he would have visited Pierre Loti.

All these things Lechmere turned over in his mind as he made his way after dark to the cottage where Maxwell was lying. The primitive peasants who gave him shelter had already retired to bed, but the door had not been fastened, possibly to permit the visit of the doctor. Lechmere cautiously opened the door and looked in. The common sitting-room of the family had been divided by a couple of sheets over a clothes-horse, and behind this Lechmere guessed that the patient lay, from the smell of carbolic on the sheets. Lechmere secured the door as a means of precaution, and passed behind the sheet. As he expected, Maxwell lay there.

His face was terribly bruised and battered, but the restless motion of his limbs testified to the fact that the nervous vitality was not greatly impaired. Maxwell opened a pair of languid eyes as Lechmere touched him on the shoulder.

"Go away," he said. "Why do you bother? There is nothing much the matter with me if I were not so terribly sleepy. I can't get my head right. I don't know what that peasant fellow is doing? I gave him all the money I had, too. What's the matter?"

Maxwell's eyes suddenly changed, he identified Lechmere with a smile of pleasure.

"I felt quite sure that you would turn up," he whispered. "Was I successful? Did I baffle them? But you don't know anything about that or about the king——"

"Indeed I do," Lechmere hastened to reply. "I know everything. The king is dead, because I have seen his body. And by this time the little plot has been successful. The king has not returned to his capital, and it will be understood by his people that he has taken advantage of the accident to go off on one of his dissipated excesses, and the revolution will be in full blast."

"But those people don't know that the king is dead?" Maxwell asked eagerly.

"They don't. You worked that business very cleverly. And Peretori must have been pretty near, for he sent me a cablegram telling me what to do. I found your Pierre Loti. He shewed me the body of the king covered with straw in his cottage. Did you manage all that?"

"I did," Maxwell said, not without a smile. "When the accident happened it came to me like a flash that the whole thing had been brought about by design. Our carriage was literally smashed to pieces and we were thrown on the permanent way. The engine-driver and stoker were killed, so I and Alexis managed to stagger as far as the engine. The king lay perfectly motionless and I felt that I was going to collapse. It was at this point that Pierre Loti came up. I gave him all the money I had in my pocket to get the king out of the way and say nothing till he heard from me again. I should say that he has obeyed instructions."

"To the letter," Lechmere said. "The king is dead, he must have been killed on the spot. I compliment you sincerely on the manner in which you contrived to keep this thing a secret. So long as the foe are in ignorance of the full measure of their success we have a chance. And I have made arrangements for the king to be conveyed to England secretly, Mazaroff is still hanging about here on the off chance of picking something up."

"Which he will not do. But what has become of our new ally, Peretori?"

"That I can't say," Lechmere replied. "Though I have a pretty shrewd idea. But it is useless to speak of that just now. What does the doctor say is the matter with you?"

"Shock, and yet I feel quite well at times. I can't keep my eyes open. I have the strange sensation of being drugged. I am so thirsty that I have to have a big jug of lemonade always by my side as you see. I am as tired as a dog again now."

And Maxwell closed his eyes. There was the sound of a step outside the cottage and the door opened very cautiously. With a sudden instinct Lechmere passed at the back of the sheets into the glow beyond just in time to avoid Mazaroff, who was the newcomer. Holding the sheet slightly back, Lechmere could see exactly what was taking place. He saw Maxwell lying as if in a heavy sleep, he saw the sinister smile that came over Mazaroff's face. The longer the protectors of the absent king lay there helpless so much the better for Mazaroff and his party. The Russian took a little bottle from his pocket and proceeded to drop a few spots from it into Maxwell's lemonade. With the same sinister smile on his face he crept away in the direction of the door. Was he carrying on the same game with Alexis, Lechmere wondered, or was some confidante doing the work?

Lechmere looked grim rather than angry, as he followed the Russian into the open air. He was going to see if the experiment was destined to be repeated on Alexis. It would be the last time, Lechmere told himself, for he had that morning put a spoke in Mazaroff's wheel which ought to stop the coach at any moment. Near the little village hotel to which the Russian made his way two official looking men were standing, a blue paper in the hand of one of them. One of them stepped up and bowed profoundly.

"Prince Mazaroff," he said. "Surely I have the honour. Ah, I thought so. You will consider yourself my prisoner in the interests of the Criminal Department of Paris. It is the warrant that I hold in my hand. You will have to come with me to Paris."

Mazaroff swore and threatened. He would like to know something of the charge. As the charge was read over his bluster and threats subdued to a little cry of dismay.

"It is a case of mistaken identity," he said. "Where are you going to take me? To Paris? It is very unfortunate, but circumstances are too strong for me, and I yield."