rbability of the man was clearly disturbed. He looked at
Erlito in amazement. The face of Nicholas of Reist shone with joy.

"Your country?" Hassen repeated, incredulously. "What have you to do
with Theos?"

Erlito hesitated--not so Reist. He stepped forward, and the leaping
firelight threw a strange glow upon his pale, mobile features.

"After all," he cried to Hassen, "it seems that you are but a poor
fool of a conspirator. I will do you an honour which you ill deserve.
I will present you to his Royal Highness, Prince Ughtred, of Tyrnaus."

"Gracious!"

The single monosyllable--from Sara Van Decht--was the only speech
which broke the amazed silence. She was leaning forward in her chair,
gazing eagerly at the three men, her beautiful eyes eloquent with
excitement--a crown of fire gleaming in her brown-gold hair. No one
noticed her. Hassen, who had regained his composure, but in whose face
was written a deep self-disgust, moved towards the door. With his
fingers upon the handle he paused and looked back at the little group.

"You are both," he said, in a low tone, "a little hard upon a soldier,
and a servant of the Sultan, with whom obedience is forced to become
an instinct. Of that--no more. But there is one thing which you may
call me as often and as thoroughly as you will, for it is as true as
the Koran, that I am an absolute--a blind fool!"

He passed out, and they heard him singing for the lift. Sara Van Decht
looked up at Brand, who was sitting next to her. Her half-whispered
remark dissolved the situation.

"I suppose that we are all awake," she said. "I feel as though I
wanted to pinch myself to be sure of it."

CHAPTER V

"And what has brought you to London, Nicholas, my friend?" Erlito
asked. "Is it pleasure, or you have perhaps a mission to the English
Government?"

It was the great moment. Reist, too restless to sit down, stood upon
the hearthrug, the angry fire lingering in his eyes, a spot of dull
colour burning still in his cheeks. He had not yet got over the shock
of finding one of the men he most hated and despised in life a guest
in this house of all others.

"Pleasure," he repeated, thoughtfully. "People would call me a
fanatic, yet nevertheless, Ughtred, this is the truth. There is no
pleasure for me outside my country. The life of the European capitals
chokes me. There is a tawdriness about them all, something artificial
and unreal. I do not know how to describe it, but it is