“You see, my dear Count,” said the Czar softly, “it is no use. You have played right into my hands; and now that you have played, you must pay the piper.”
“I assure your Majesty——” began the count, straightening himself up and maintaining an air of ruffled dignity.
“Tut, tut, Count!” protested the Czar, with a wave of his hand. “Why deny what is so plainly apparent. You are guilty and I know it. Why, I have had proof for days. I just laid this little trap to catch you as you were about to strike. But, my dear Count, I assure you that after this, your claws will not be sharp enough to scratch. What do you say, Count, shall it be death or Siberia?”
“You do not leave me much choice,” replied the count, having regained his composure and facing the ruler calmly. “Let it be death.”
“In that event,” said the Czar, “it shall be Siberia.”
“Your Majesty——” again began the count.
The Czar silenced him with a wave of his hand.
“Take him away,” he commanded the officer in charge of the squad.
Struggling and kicking frantically, Count Blowinski was dragged from the room.
“Now,” said the Czar to Lord Hastings, “I can breathe easier. His very presence had polluted the air. Come. We shall return to my suite.”