Dangloss's lynx-eyed constabulary kept close watch over these restless,
homeless strangers, constantly ordering them to disperse, or to "move
on," or to "find a bed, not a doorstep." The commands were always
obeyed; churlishly, perhaps, in many instances, but never with physical
resistance.

At five o'clock, a stealthy whisper went the rounds, reaching the ear of
every vagabond and cutthroat engaged in the untiring vigil. Like smoke
they faded away. The silent watch was over.

The word had sped to every corner of the town that it was no longer
necessary to maintain the watch for Truxton King. He was no longer in a
position to give them trouble or uneasiness!

The twenty-sixth dawned bright and cool after the savage storm from the
north. Brisk breezes floated down from the mountain peaks; an
unreluctant sun smiled his cheeriest from his seat behind the hills,
warmly awaiting the hour when he could peep above them for a look into
the gala nest of humanity on the western slope. Everywhere there was
activity, life, gladness and good humour.

Gaudy decorations which had been torn away by the storm were cheerfully
replaced; workmen refurbished the public stands and the Royal box in the
Plaza; bands paraded the avenues or gave concerts in Regengetz Circus;
troops of mounted soldiers and constabulary patroled the streets. There
was nothing to indicate to the municipality that the vilest conspiracy
of the age--of any age--was gripping its tentacles about the city of
Edelweiss, the smiling, happy city of mountain and valley. No one could
have suspected guile in the laughter and badinage that masked the manner
of the men who were there to spread disaster in the bunting-clad
thoroughfares.

"I don't like the looks of things," said Baron Dangloss, time and again.
His men were never so alert as to-day and never so deceived.

"There can't be trouble of any sort," mused Colonel Quinnox. "These
fellows are ugly, 'tis true, but they are not prepared for a
demonstration. They are unarmed. What could they do against the troops,
even though they are considerably depleted?"

"Colonel, we'll yet see the day when Graustark regrets the economy that
has cut our little army to almost nothing. What have we now, all told?
Three hundred men in the Royal Guard. Less than six hundred in the
fortress. I have a hundred policemen. There you are. To-day there are
nearly two hundred soldiers off in the mountains on nasty business of
one sort or ano