ing that you would desire a quiet reception, instructed
me to take you to the gardens of his private suite where he will shortly
join you; unless," added Von Ritz courteously, "you prefer the
Throne-room and dancing _salles_?"

Benton's reply was prompt.

"I believe I am to see the Count Pagratide," he answered. "I am grateful
to the Count for arranging that I might be secluded."

Blanco had gone into some detail in describing the chamber where he had
met the King, and later the Queen. Benton now recognized the place to
which he was conducted, from that description. As before, the room was
empty and the portieres of the wide windows were partly drawn. Through
the opening he could see the small area perching on a space redeemed
from the solid rock. Dark masses against the sky marked the palms of the
garden, and through the window drifted the splashing of a fountain
mingled with the distant strains of the same Viennese waltz that the
hotel band had been playing. That year you might have heard it from the
Golden Gate to Suez and back again from Suez to the Golden Gate.

CHAPTER XVIII

IN WHICH THE SPHINX BREAKS SILENCE

Left alone, Benton spent ten minutes in the room, then passed through
the window to the balcony and went down into the miniature garden. His
face was hot and his pulses heightened. The garden was gratefully cool
and quiet.

From the window, through which he had come, a broad shaft of tempered
luminance fell across the fountain and laid a zone of soft light athwart
the low stone benches surrounding it. Then it caught, and faintly edged
with its glow, the granite balustrade at the shoulder of the cliff.
Elsewhere the little garden was enveloped in the velvet blackness of the
night, against which the points of town and harbor lights, far below,
were splinters of emerald and ruby. The moon would not rise until late.

The American strolled over to the shaded margin which was unspoiled by
the light. He brushed back the hair from his forehead and let the sea
breeze play on his face.

Finally a light sound behind him called his attention inward. The King
and Von Ritz stood together in the doorway. Both were in dress uniform.
Karyl, even at the side of the soldierly Von Ritz, was striking in the
white and silver of Galavia's commanding general. Across his breast
glinted the decorations of all the orders to which Royalty entitled him.

The King, with a deep breath not unlike a sigh, came forward to