e bullock cart was now drawn awkwardly across the narrow way. As
the horsemen came near, the loungers in the lower part of the street
displayed a singularly unanimous desire to close in and follow them.
There were hundreds of townspeople gathered on the pavements, and not a
few vehicles occupied the roadway; so these concerted movements were not
discernible to any one who was not a past master in the revolutionary
art like Poluski, and to him only because his suspicions were already
active.

The King and Beaumanoir were coming on at such a pace that Felix, owing
to his low stature, would be quite invisible to them if he stood among
the crowd now hovering on the curb; so he pushed boldly out into the
middle of the street, took off his hat with a flourish, and sang
lustily:

"O, Alec! _O, mon roi!_"

The thunderbolt that removed the Governor of Silesia, had it struck the
paving stones in front of the King's horse, could hardly have startled
Alec more than the sight of Felix, standing there, bare headed and
grinning, and chanting an improvised version of a famous song at the top
of his voice.

"You, Felix!" he cried. "You here?"

"It is far more to the point that Joan is there," said Poluski, with
expressive pantomime.

"In the hotel?"

"Yes, up the stairs, first door on the right, across the landing. You
have a few minutes to spare. Go quickly!"

Alec required no second bidding. Leaping from the saddle, he threw the
reins to one of the orderlies. "Give me a few seconds, Berty," he cried
to Beaumanoir, and before the onlookers could grasp the motive of this
sudden halt, he had vanished through the doorway.

"You come, too; you are wanted," said Felix, addressing Beaumanoir in
English.

"Sure?" asked his Lordship, gazing at the quaint figure with some degree
of astonishment.

"Yes, it is a matter of life or death. Come!"

Beaumanoir dismounted leisurely. "Who's going to die?" he demanded,
drawing the reins over his charger's head ere he handed them to the
second soldier.

Felix quivered, yet he realized that the Englishman's cool demeanor was
wholly in accord with the plan outlined in his own alert brain.

"Everybody of any consequence in this bally menagerie if you don't hurry
up," said Felix.

The use of British slang at that crisis was a touch of real genius. It
appealed to Beaumanoir. "Gad! it's a treat to hear you talk," he
grinned; but he thrust through the gapers in his turn.

Felix rushed into