plodes, and even an occasional bomb is unpleasant if you are the
target.

"Finally, I am much too fond of your delightful country to wish to leave
it. I was educated in England--I am a Magdalene College man--and I have
the greatest horror of ever being compelled to leave it. My present life
suits me exactly. That is all I wished to say, Mr. Bleke. For both our
sakes, for the sake of my comfort and your purse, abandon this scheme of
yours."

* * * * *

Roland walked home thoughtfully. Maraquita had left the royal residence
long before he had finished the whisky-and-soda which the genial monarch
had pressed upon him. As he walked, the futility of his situation came
home to him more and more. Whatever he did, he was bound to displease
somebody; and these Paranoyans were so confoundedly impulsive when they
were vexed.

For two days he avoided Maraquita. On the third, with something of the
instinct which draws the murderer to the spot where he has buried the
body, he called at her house.

She was not present, but otherwise there was a full gathering. There
were the marquises; there were the counts; there was Bombito.

He looked unhappily round the crowd.

Somebody gave him a glass of champagne. He raised it.

"To the revolution," he said mechanically.

There was a silence--it seemed to Roland an awkward silence. As if he
had said something improper, the marquises and counts began to drift
from the room, till only Bombito was left. Roland regarded him with some
apprehension. He was looking larger and more unusual than ever.

But to-night, apparently, Bombito was in genial mood. He came forward
and slapped Roland on the shoulder. And then the remarkable fact came to
light that Bombito spoke English, or a sort of English.

"My old chap," he said. "I would have a speech with you."

He slapped Roland again on the shoulder.

"The others they say, 'Break it with Senor Bleke gently.' Maraquita say
'Break it with Senor Bleke gently.' So I break it with you gently."

He dealt Roland a third stupendous punch. Whatever was to be broken
gently, it was plain to Roland that it was not himself. And suddenly
there came to him a sort of intuition that told him that Bombito was
nervous.

"After all you have done for us, Senor Bleke, we shall seem to you
ungrateful bounders, but what is it? Yes? No? I shouldn't wonder,
perhaps. The whole fact is that there has been political crisis in
Paranoya.