k down in a sitting posture, coughing
oddly; his head dropped forward.

'Shoot them down!' shouted Sagan, but the words were still on his lips
when the door behind John Rallywood slowly opened and a figure stood
beside him.

Its appearance checked the rising struggle, for the figure was the
figure of the Grand Duke of Maasau. He was wrapped in his hooded robe of
green velvet, and the five points of the golden star of Maasau blazed
upon his breast.

'Cousin, I would speak with you, but these fools stopped me,' exclaimed
Sagan.

The Duke turned his shadowed face and spoke to Rallywood in a low voice.

'His Highness begs you, my lord, to withdraw your men,' said Rallywood
aloud.

Sagan, scowling, ordered his men to the further end of the long room.
Meantime Rallywood, with evident unwillingness, pulled away a portion of
the barricade. Through this the Duke advanced with a stately
deliberation, and walked slowly up to the Count.

With a sudden hoarse shout of triumph Sagan flung his great arms about
the Duke's body.

'By St. Anthony, Gustave, no one shall stop our conversation now!'

The Duke made no attempt to release himself from the rough hug that held
him prisoner. He merely raised his hood with one hand, so that Sagan,
his coarse mouth still wide in laughter, could stare into the
countenance not four inches from his own.

Consternation and fury swept over the Count's features. From under the
hood a red challenging face, a big white moustache, and shaggy-browed
humorous eyes met his gaze. The sight held him gaping. But only for a
second. Then he whipped out his pistol.

'An English plot, by Heaven!'

But Rallywood was quicker still. A sharp knock on the Count's wrist sent
the bullet into the ceiling.

'Have a care, my lord,' Counsellor said authoritatively. 'You cannot do
as you will even in this lonely and remote room in your lonely Castle of
Sagan, since England and--' with a bow towards Elmur--'Germany are
looking on.'

Sagan still threatened Counsellor with the revolver.

'Can you see any reason why I should not kill you as a traitor to my
country at this moment, Major Counsellor?' he shouted.

'Only one, my lord. Russia also, in the person of M. Blivinski, knows
where I am, and is awaiting my return to arrange for our journey to
Revonde--which we propose to make in each other's company,' replied
Counsellor pointedly.

Sagan burst into his habitual storm of curses.

'Your nation have well be