ourage and judgment, and it comforted him to think that Sarrasin must
always say he had a warning from him, Soame Rivers, before anything had
occurred--if anything was to occur. If anything should occur, the actual
hour of the warning given would hardly be recalled amid so many
circumstances more important. Soame sat in his room and watched with
heavy heart. He felt that he had been playing the part of a traitor,
and, more than that, that he was likely to be found out. Could he
retrieve himself even yet? He knew he was not a coward.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE EXPLOSION

Meanwhile Hamilton came back to his room with the Dictator. The Dictator
looked fresh, bright, wide-awake, and ready for anything. He had
grumbled a little on being roused, and was at first inclined rather
peevishly to 'pooh-pooh' all suggestion of conspiracies and personal
danger.

He even went so far as to say that, on the whole, he would rather prefer
to be allowed to have his sleep out, even though it were to be concisely
rounded off by his death. But he soon pulled himself together and got
out of that perverse and sleepy mood, and by the time he and Hamilton
had found Sarrasin, the Dictator was well up to all the duties of a
commander-in-chief. He had a rapid review of the situation with
Sarrasin.

'What I don't see,' he quietly said--he knew too well to try
whispering--'is why I should not keep to my own room. If anything is
going to happen I am well forewarned, and shall be well fore-armed, and
I shall be pretty well able to take care of myself; and why should
anyone else run any risk on my account?'

'It isn't on your account,' Sarrasin answered, a little bluntly.

'No? Well, I am glad to hear that. On whose account, then, may I ask?'

'On account of Gloria,' Sarrasin answered decisively. 'If Hamilton here
is killed, or _I_ am killed, it does not matter a straw so far as Gloria
is concerned. But if you got killed, who, I want to know, is to go out
to Gloria? Gloria would not rise for Hamilton or me.'

The Dictator could say nothing. He could only clasp in silence the hand
of either man.

'They are putting out the lights downstairs,' Sarrasin said in a low
tone. 'I had better get to my lair.'

'Have you got a revolver?' Hamilton asked.

'Never go without one, dear boy.' Then Sarrasin stole away with the
noiseless tread of the Red Indian, whose comrade and whose enemy he had
been so often.

Hamilton closed his door, but did not fas