“Listen, Svolak,” he said to the liveried driver, who had dismounted from the box. “If you are dismissed by an order from the house, drive off and station yourself by that corner light, half a block down the street. Wait there until you get another order from me. Understand me?”
“Thoroughly,” answered Svolak, remounting the box.
A moment later Posadowski had rejoined Posnovitch and Rukacs on the opposite side of the street. The front door of the house opened; the hall attendant ran down the steps and gave an order to Svolak. The carriage rattled over the noisy pavement and made its way down-town.
“All goes well, my brothers,” cried Posadowski, joyfully. “If he leaves that house alone, no power on earth can save the kingdom of Rexania from destruction. Never before in the history of the world did the birth of a republic depend upon whether a guest left his host in company or alone. But that is just how the crisis stands at this moment. I have played the whole game on the chance that the prince will not care to have his new friends learn his secret. I believe that he will come out to us alone. If he does, success is in our hands. If he doesn’t, we must wait for another chance.”
Time went by: the conspirators grew restless and impatient. So much was at stake on the opening of the front door of a Fifth Avenue mansion that they were appalled by the possibilities suggested by the line of thought Posadowski had struck out. It was not too much to say that peace or war in Europe might depend upon the details of the next exit that should take place through the entrance that glared at them across the street.
Suddenly Posadowski clutched Rukacs’ arm. “Here he comes,” he whispered. “Walk down toward the carriage. I will join him at once. Let me do the talking. You can put in a word of loyalty at first, but keep quiet after that. Go!”
On the steps opposite to them stood the prince, gazing up and down the street, as the door closed behind him. There for a moment he paused, the incarnation of an anachronism, a youth who had failed to conceal his awful crime of being born a king. For that one moment he stood, poised on the brink of a precipice, while Reaction and Progress trembled in the balance. Then slowly he descended the steps and found himself face to face with Posadowski. As he scanned his fellow-countryman searchingly, the Crown Prince of Rexania felt reassured.
“Let us walk down the avenue together,” said Posadowski, quietly, purposely avoiding the young man’s title. “I have much to say to you, and friends await us down the street.”
For one moment the prince hesitated: his eyes sought the house he had just left, as though the mansion contained something from which he had no wish to part. Then he turned and accompanied Posadowski down the avenue.