As it was, no four men in Delgratz could hope to force
an entrance, and no more than four could attack it simultaneously.

It was noteworthy that no one called on the King to come out. These
hirelings, enraged against a ruler who had brought to the Danube a new
evangel of justice and uprightness, of honest government and clean
handed service to the State, made no pretense of requesting a hearing
for their grievances. They had planned to shoot him in cold blood while
he and his three companions were momentarily delayed by the barrier of
the bullock cart in front of the corner cafe. Balked of this easy means
of attaining their end, they were still sure of success. But their cries
and curses were intended only for self encouragement. Not even the
bloodstained Seventh Regiment had the effrontery to ask their victim to
admit them.

There was a momentary quieting of their wild beast fury when the door
resisted their utmost efforts. Joan tried to persuade her tortured mind
that the conspiracy had failed.

"They will not dare to remain," she whispered. "They know that
assistance may arrive at any moment. Listen, they are going now!"

"Are you gentlemen armed?" asked Felix, grimly.

"Yes, with riding whips," said Alec. "For my part, I have refused to
carry any more dangerous weapon; though it is true that I entered
Delgratz with a sword in my hand," he added, remembering with a twinge
his imagining of Joan's ready laugh when she heard of Prince Michael's
brown paper parcel.

"Pity you don't possess a revolver apiece. They would prove useful when
the panels are broken, which will happen just as soon as these high
spirited politicians on the landing secure axes," went on Felix
remorselessly.

He wanted Joan to realize the certain fate that awaited her once the
door gave way. Concealment was useless, and he hoped she would faint
before the end came.

"What price the leg of a chair?" asked Beaumanoir.

The Pole bent his gleaming gray eyes on the Briton with a curious
underlook of inquiry. "No, no. We can do better than that. You would be
shot before you could strike a blow. Joan, please crawl past the window
and stand upright in the corner close to the wall. You follow, Alec. I
go next, and this young gentleman, who must be Lord Adalbert Beaumanoir,
since he has all the outward signs of the British aristocracy, will
place himself near the door. If he does exactly what I tell him, we
still have a fighting chance."

The c