to you my government's purposes."

"What and whom were you expecting?" demanded the Englishman. "You
shall not leave this room till you have fully explained this remarkable
intrusion."

"We were expecting the Lord and Baronet Fitzgerald."

"The lord!" laughing. "Does the lord visit Bleiberg often, then, that
you prepare this sort of a reception? And the Baronet Fitzgerald?"

"They are the same and the one person."

"And who the deuce is he; a spy, a smuggler, a villain, or what?"

"As to that, Monsieur," with a wonder why this man laughed, "I know no
more than you. But I do know that for the past month every Englishman
has been subjected to this surveillance, and has submitted with more
grace than you," with an oblique glance.

"What! Examined his luggage at the hotel?"

"Yes, Monsieur. It is the order of the minister of police. I know not
why." The natural color was returning to his cheeks.

"This is a fine country, I must say. At least the king should acquaint
his visitors with the true cause of this treatment." In his turn the
Englishman resorted to oblique glances.

"The king?" The inspector raised a shoulder and spread his hands. "The
king is a paralytic, Monsieur, and has little to say these days."

"A paralytic? I thought he was called `the handsome monarch'?"

"That was years ago, Monsieur. For three years he has been helpless and
bedridden. The archbishop is the real king nowadays. But he meddles not
with the police."

"This is very sad. I suppose it would be impossible for strangers to see
him now."

"An audience?" a sparkle behind the spectacles. "Is your business with
the king, Monsieur?"

"My business is mine," shortly. "I am only a tourist, and should have
liked to see the king from mere curiosity. However, had you explained
all this to me, I should not have caused you so many gray hairs."

"Monsieur did not give me the chance," simply.

"True," the Englishman replied soberly. He began to think that he had
been over hasty in asserting his privileges. "But all this has nothing
to do with me. My name is John Hamilton. See, it is engraved on the
stock of the gun," catching it up and holding it under the spectacled
eyes, which still observed it with some trepidation. "That is the name
in my passports, in the book down stairs, in the lining of my hat. I am
sorry, since you were only obeying orders, that my rough play has caused
you alarm." He unbolted the door. "Good morning."

The inspec