roused her forebodings anew.

"What is it, Sergeant?" she inquired anxiously. "Who is here?"

"Can't make heads or tails of it, Your Grace; not that I have any right
to, but one gets figuring on what is going on around him when he is
idle. It must be very important, since Colonel Sutphen has been summoned
from the frontier. Count Zulka has not arrived yet, but a courier was
sent for him, too. His Majesty is also here, but it seems that Count
Sobieska sent out all the orders. The courier from Paris arrived about
an hour before the Privy Council was summoned. Then Josef was sent for.
Then, though kept in the office, he was put under arrest. Search has
been made everywhere for Your Grace. My commands were to invite you to
enter as soon as you could be found. I will announce you."

"You must come, also," the girl insisted, turning to Carter.

"But Carrick?" he objected, as he looked down at the lifeless figure in
his arms.

"Bring him in," she replied. "Though too late to do him further
service, Krovitch shall not forget his devotion and his sacrifice."

They opened and entered the door of Sobieska's office. A faint commotion
heralded the sight of Carrick which Carter attributed to natural
surprise; he had no idea that it held a deeper significance. He placed
the blood-stained form upon a leather lounge, folding the hands across
the breast. The pallid features seemed to have taken on a strange
nobility in death.

It needed but a scant glance to prove that something was wrong, an odd
repression filled the air with a myriad silent surmises. Trusia's eyes
were blazing. Then Carter, following their direction, noted that the
Minister of Private Intelligence, against all etiquette, was seated
calmly at his desk, while His Majesty was standing. Josef, at one corner
of the room, was guarded by the pair of soldiers who had been placed to
watch Carter and Carrick the day of their arrival. A strapping young
fellow, pale and mud-splashed, a bandage about his head, his left arm in
a sling, leaned heavily against the wainscoting.

As Trusia courtesied low to Stovik, Sobieska arose, a slight frown
marking a thin line between his brows, to bow sadly in the direction of
the body on the lounge. His back was deliberately turned upon the
Parisian with such studied insolence of action that the Duchess could
not permit it to pass unrebuked.

"The King!" she said.

There followed--silence. Stovik and the courier dropped to their knees