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rbability of the man was clearly disturbed. He looked at Erlito in amazement. The face of Nicholas of Reist shone with joy. "Your country?" Hassen repeated, incredulously. "What have you to do with Theos?" Erlito hesitated--not so Reist. He stepped forward, and the leaping firelight threw a strange glow upon his pale, mobile features. "After all," he cried to Hassen, "it seems that you are but a poor fool of a conspirator. I will do you an honour which you ill deserve. I will present you to his Royal Highness, Prince Ughtred, of Tyrnaus." "Gracious!" The single monosyllable--from Sara Van Decht--was the only speech which broke the amazed silence. She was leaning forward in her chair, gazing eagerly at the three men, her beautiful eyes eloquent with excitement--a crown of fire gleaming in her brown-gold hair. No one noticed her. Hassen, who had regained his composure, but in whose face was written a deep self-disgust, moved towards the door. With his fingers upon the handle he paused and looked back at the little group. "You are both," he said, in a low tone, "a little hard upon a soldier, and a servant of the Sultan, with whom obedience is forced to become an instinct. Of that--no more. But there is one thing which you may call me as often and as thoroughly as you will, for it is as true as the Koran, that I am an absolute--a blind fool!" He passed out, and they heard him singing for the lift. Sara Van Decht looked up at Brand, who was sitting next to her. Her half-whispered remark dissolved the situation. "I suppose that we are all awake," she said. "I feel as though I wanted to pinch myself to be sure of it." CHAPTER V "And what has brought you to London, Nicholas, my friend?" Erlito asked. "Is it pleasure, or you have perhaps a mission to the English Government?" It was the great moment. Reist, too restless to sit down, stood upon the hearthrug, the angry fire lingering in his eyes, a spot of dull colour burning still in his cheeks. He had not yet got over the shock of finding one of the men he most hated and despised in life a guest in this house of all others. "Pleasure," he repeated, thoughtfully. "People would call me a fanatic, yet nevertheless, Ughtred, this is the truth. There is no pleasure for me outside my country. The life of the European capitals chokes me. There is a tawdriness about them all, something artificial and unreal. I do not know how to describe it, but it is
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