he has thrust upon
your sister. You can bear to think of her, slighted for the daughter
of an American tradesman. Who is Ughtred of Tyrnaus that he should do
this thing, and that the Duke of Reist should ask his pardon!"

Reist ground his teeth.

"I can force my way into the ranks and fight unknown," he said,
hoarsely. "It would be better to die there than to live to listen to
your poisonous whisperings. I do not trust you, Domiloff. I cannot. I
have no pledge that you would keep your word."

A sudden change flashed into the white face of the Russian. He sat
perfectly still--listening. Reist opened his lips to ask a question,
but it remained unasked. He, too, heard the sound. Somewhere behind
the partition a man's breathing was distinctly audible. Domiloff's
hand sought his pocket, and he rose softly to his feet.

The intruder, whoever he might be, did not hesitate for a second. He
leaped through the window by which he had entered, and ran down the
passage. Domiloff followed him, and peering forward fired a couple of
shots in rapid succession. Apparently they were fruitless, for the
fugitive gained the open space in front of the _cafe_ and mingled with
the crowd. There was a rush of bystanders towards the two men, but
Domiloff raised his hands and cried in Thetian--

"A Turk! A Turk! A spy! Follow him!"

There was a rush across the street. Domiloff and Reist exchanged rapid
glances with one another.

"A spy indeed, but a spy from the other side," Domiloff muttered. "I
wonder how much he heard."

But Reist was speechless. To him the interruption had come like the
awakening from a horrible dream. There was a man then--a man of Theos
who knew him for a traitor.

The hue and cry had left them alone. Suddenly Domiloff stooped down. A
soft felt hat lay almost at their feet. Through the brim and crown was
a small round hole.

"It is his hat," Domiloff muttered. "Why did I not aim an inch lower?"

He struck a match, and looked for the name inside the lining. It was
Scott and Co., Bond Street, London.

Reist felt his cheeks burn, though the night was cool. Domiloff's
voice sounded unnaturally calm.

"It was the Englishman then, Walter Brand. Good!"

"The King's friend," Reist faltered.

Domiloff nodded.

"I do not think," he said, "that he will ever see the King again."

CHAPTER XXXVI

Late that night a man stood motionless amongst the shrubs in the
garden of the Reist house. His eyes were fixed