“Nicholas of Reist has withdrawn his allegiance to me,” Ughtred said. “Yet I do not believe that he would be concerned in anything absolutely traitorous. As for the Countess—I fear that I have incurred her ill-will. She is friendly too, they say, with Domiloff. I cannot see though what mischief she can do. Ruttens,” he added, turning towards the door, “are there sufficient police left in Theos to effect the arrest of one man?”
Ruttens, grey-bearded, long since a pensioner, saluted the King respectfully.
“Your Majesty,” he answered, “it depends upon the man.”
“The man is Baron Domiloff!”
Ruttens shook his head.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “we can make the attempt. Yesterday it would have been possible enough. But last night half the veterans and weaklings who have been enrolled as special police deserted.”
“Deserted!” the King exclaimed, frowning.
Ruttens smiled.
“Deserted in order to make their way to the front, your Majesty. Old Kennestoff, who is eighty years old, got out his rifle and went, and a dozen more well nigh his age. I myself——”
He hesitated. The King’s face had cleared.