“It’s shoot or nothing,” the lad told himself, and he followed the count closely.
Now Count Blowinski approached the Czar and the latter extended a hand.
“Welcome, your Majesty,” cried the count, and falling to his knee he took the hand and pressed his lips to it.
“I am glad to see you, Count,” replied Czar Nicholas. “A fine body of men you have here.”
“Thank you, sire! They are indeed a likely body of men and they would have you say a few words to them.”
The count now presented the others of his retinue to the Czar, and followed his majesty to the top of the palace steps, as one befitting his rank and station.
There, he turned and surveyed the crowd below—a host of uniformed figures. He spoke a few words to them himself, and announced that the Czar would address them.
Then the count fell back a trifle, as the Czar advanced.
Jack watched the big Russian closely, noting that Blowinski’s hand rested upon his belt, where was exposed the butt of a revolver. Jack’s hand rested in his coat pocket and his fingers gripped his own weapon firmly.
“I wish Frank were here,” he muttered. “I am not certain of my own aim.”