pile question on question, pointing to this place and
to that. He had learned to draw the map before he was ten, and he had
drawn it again and again because there had been times when his father
had told him that changes had taken place. Oh, yes! he could have
drawn a map which would have moved them to a frenzy of joy. But he sat
silent and listened, only speaking when he asked a question, as if he
knew nothing more about Samavia than The Rat did. What a Secret Party
they were! They drew themselves together in the closest of circles;
they spoke in unearthly whispers.

"A sentinel ought to be posted at the end of the passage," Marco
whispered.

"Ben, take your gun!" commanded The Rat.

Ben rose stealthily, and, shouldering his weapon, crept on tiptoe to
the opening. There he stood on guard.

"My father says there's been a Secret Party in Samavia for a hundred
years," The Rat whispered.

"Who told him?" asked Marco.

"A man who has been in Samavia," answered The Rat. "He said it was the
most wonderful Secret Party in the world, because it has worked and
waited so long, and never given up, though it has had no reason for
hoping. It began among some shepherds and charcoal-burners who bound
themselves by an oath to find the Lost Prince and bring him back to the
throne. There were too few of them to do anything against the
Maranovitch, and when the first lot found they were growing old, they
made their sons take the same oath. It has been passed on from
generation to generation, and in each generation the band has grown.
No one really knows how large it is now, but they say that there are
people in nearly all the countries in Europe who belong to it in dead
secret, and are sworn to help it when they are called. They are only
waiting. Some are rich people who will give money, and some are poor
ones who will slip across the frontier to fight or to help to smuggle
in arms. They even say that for all these years there have been arms
made in caves in the mountains, and hidden there year after year.
There are men who are called Forgers of the Sword, and they, and their
fathers, and grandfathers, and great-grandfathers have always made
swords and stored them in caverns no one knows of, hidden caverns
underground."

Marco spoke aloud the thought which had come into his mind as he
listened, a thought which brought fear to him. "If the people in the
streets talk about it, they won't be hidden long."

"It isn't