"One minute," I said. "Tell me your name first, please, Mr. Smith."
"Count von Zeula."
"Thank you." I nodded, well satisfied, for the name was well known to me. Many things had been done for Rudarlia, by men bearing that name, during some hundreds of years.
"I shall want all your attention, Victor, as what I have to tell you may come as a shock, and first I must relate a little story, a story which at the time of its happening was in everybody's mouth. It is a story of misery.
"Twenty years or so ago, a good King sat upon the throne of Rudarlia; he was loved by the greater part of his subjects, and in return he dedicated his life to their welfare, whole-heartedly and devotedly.
"Unfortunately, there were men, nobles, who found that his rule was injurious to their interests, these interests being the right to fill their exchequers from the pockets of the lower classes.
"They conspired with the next heir to the throne, who was more to their liking.
"Then the King married, and his wife gave birth to a son, amid the joyful acclamations of the nation.
"The conspirators redoubled their activity. They bought over a few officers, and some hundreds of the private soldiers. They waited a favourable opportunity, working secretly all the while; then raised a scare of war. The loyal officers in immediate attendance on their Majesties were sent away. The King reviewed a regiment, an assassin shot him dead."
Mr. Smith brushed a hand across his eyes, was silent for a moment, and then continued: