With a strong feeling of congratulation that he had gleaned the whole story of her wild adventure from Jessie Harcourt, Varney walked coolly up the staircase. He had little difficulty in locating the room where the dissolute ruler of Asturia lay. It was the only locked door in that corridor, and he had the key in his pocket, which key, it will be remembered, Jessie handed over to him.

The lights were still burning there; the king still lay in the huddled uniform of General Maxgregor on the bed. At the end of the corridor a telephone gleamed. Varney crossed over and called up his own confidential servant, to whom he gave a long message. This being done, he returned to the bedroom and carefully locked the door behind him. He crossed over to the bed and shook the royal occupant much as a policeman shakes a drunken tramp asleep in a gutter.

"Get up," he said. "Get up; you are wanted at once. And drink this—do you hear?"

The blear-eyed wretch sat up in bed. He was shaking from head to foot. His hands shook as he held them out for the contents of the bottle that Varney was holding—the rest of the drug that had been administered to Sir Reginald Lancing.

"I hope it won't hurt me," the king whispered. "My doctor here, Dr. Varney——"

"I am Dr. Varney," said the latter coldly, "only you are still too drunk to know who I am. I am not likely to give you anything harmful—at least, not for the present. Where are your clothes? You never came here in that uniform."

"I was in evening dress," the king said helplessly. "Somebody must have changed with me. Look and see, there's a good fellow. Must have been a big fellow who played this trick on me."

Varney gave a grunt of disappointment. He recollected now that Maxgregor had gone off in the guise of the king. Therefore, if the king had that proposed treaty of abdication in his pocket, the same was in the possession of Maxgregor at this moment.

"You are in the house of Lord Merehaven," Varney said. "You should have come here to-night with the queen. In the interests of your country, and in the interests of Europe, you should have been here. Instead of that you go off somewhere and get wretchedly drunk in some gambling-house. It was by great good luck that you were found and conveyed secretly here by the garden entrance. Kings have done some disgraceful things in their time, but nothing quite so bad as your conduct to-night. Where is the document that Prince Mazaroff gave you to sign?"

It was a bow drawn at a venture, but the shaft went home.

"I don't know," the king groaned. "I put it in my pocket. It was not the thing to sign all at once. Shouldn't have pluck enough whilst I was sober. Then I had too much champagne. What was that you gave me to drink just now? Seems to make a new man of me. Haven't felt so fit and well for years. Feel as if I could do anything now."

"You'll want all your manhood presently," Varney said coolly. "Your father was a man of courage, as I found out for myself in his last painful illness. You had pluck enough as a boy; you'd have it again now if you dropped your champagne. Wash yourself well, and make yourself look as respectable as possible. We are going downstairs."

"What, like this!" the king cried in dismay. "In a uniform that is far too big——"

"Nothing of the kind. There is a change coming for you from your hotel. My confidential servant is seeing to it, and he will be here presently. With clean clothes and linen and an order or two you will be a passable king yet. Go and wash yourself at once. You are in my hands to-night."

There was a cold, stinging contempt in Varney's tones by no means lost on the listener. Perhaps some sense of shame was stirring within him, for no reproof rose to his trembling, bibulous lips. Varney passed out presently, locking the door behind him as coolly as if he had been a gaoler. At the foot of the stairs a neat-looking footman was waiting with a parcel for Varney. As he took it Hope crossed the hall. There was a look of alertness, a desire for battle in his face.

"What is going on?" Varney asked. "Something seems to have happened?"

"Count Gleikstein is here," Ronald whispered. "The Russian chargÉ d'affaires, in the absence at St. Petersburg of the Ambassador. You can imagine what he has come for. There was a great battle of wits going on in the salon. The Queen of Asturia is talking to Gleikstein, and I have secured the presence of Prince Mazaroff. Lechmere looks anxious for the fray, and I should say from the expression on his face that he has a knife up his sleeve. If we could play some strong card——"

"We are going to," Varney snapped, as he hugged his bundle under his arm. "Only keep the ball rolling for another quarter of an hour, and I shall be ready for you. Listen!"

Very rapidly Varney whispered a few instructions into the ear of Hope. The latter grinned delightedly, then his face grew grave again. The thing was serious enough, and yet there was a fine element of comedy in it. It was diplomacy gone mad. On the hall stand was a stack of visiting cards. On one of them, chosen at haphazard, Hope wrote a message. He trusted that the queen would understand; in fact, he felt sure that she would.

The little group in the salon, under the famous Romney and the equally famous Velasquez, was a striking one—the Queen of Asturia, tall and stately, and smiling as if perfectly at her ease; by her side Count Gleikstein, the Russian chargÉ d'affaires, slim waisted, dark of face and stern of eye, yet with a waxed moustache and an air that gave a suggestion of effeminacy to him. Lechmere was lounging by in a listless kind of way, and yet from time to time there was an eager tightening of his mouth that proved him ready for the fray. Prince Mazaroff completed the group.

Ronald Hope came up with a respectful bow, and tendered the card to the queen. She glanced at it leisurely; her face betrayed nothing as she read the message and handed the card back to Ronald again. One grateful look flashed from her eyes.

"I regret that I cannot," she said. "I have so many calls of that kind on my time. If the lady is a friend of yours, Captain Hope, I may stretch a point in her favour. She may call on my secretary at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning."

Ronald bowed deeply as if charged with a message, and hastened into the hall. The card he tore into small fragments and cast into a waste paper basket under one of the hall tables. Then he went back to the striking group under the picture again.

"I am afraid that it concerns all of us," the count was saying in a dangerously insinuating voice. "Of course, one can hardly be responsible for what the papers say, but in the present dangerous state of public opinion in Asturia—the queen will pardon me?"

"I pardon anybody who does their duty to their country at any cost," the queen said. "If we could produce those papers that your royal master is so suspicious about——"

"Then I am to understand that some papers of importance have really been stolen?" the count said swiftly.

"On the contrary, you are not to understand anything of the kind," Lord Merehaven smiled. "My dear count, I could lead you a fine wild-goose chase if I chose to allow your imagination free run. As a matter of fact, the papers you allude to were in my own hands at seven o'clock this evening. It is hardly possible that they could have been stolen and their contents made known to an American paper within an hour from that time. So easy am I in my mind that I have not even sent down to my office to see if the papers are still extant. And when you see the King of Asturia——"

"But I understand that he has gone to Paris?" Count Gleikstein said, with a swift, meaning glance at the queen. "Of course, if his majesty were here, and could give us an assurance that he has in no way given his authority and let you know what I mean. I am afraid that those agreeable Bohemian excursions that his majesty is so fond of are not regarded in Asturia in the same liberal light that they might be. Still, your assurance, my dear Lord Merehaven, will not——"

"Will not weigh like that of his majesty," Merehaven said. "If he were only here——"

"He has been detained," the queen said, ignoring a meaning smile that passed between the count and Prince Mazaroff. "If I could only have a message——"

A quick, smothered cry broke from Mazaroff as he looked to the door. Gleikstein followed his glance, and his face fell wofully. The queen smiled and advanced one step towards the door. Her dark eyes were filled with a great and lasting joy.

"I think your kindness is going to be rewarded, count," she said. "Yes, I was not mistaken."

A tall footman in the doorway announced—"His Majesty the King of Asturia!"