CHAPTER VI.
“These men are your friends and know your secret,” whispered Posadowski to the prince, as they approached Rukacs and Posnovitch, who were standing boldly in the glare of an electric light by the side of the carriage.
He who called himself Count Szalaki was somewhat paler than usual, but his step was firm, and there was that in his bearing that caused a pang of regret in the mind of his companion. It takes a very hardened conspirator to cast youth into captivity without a touch of remorse.
“Rukacs, Posnovitch,” said Posadowski, in a low tone, as the quartette formed by the sidewalk’s edge, “you know who this man is. What is our duty toward him.”
“To protect him and defend him with our life-blood, when the need shall come,” answered Rukacs and Posnovitch in concert.
Count Szalaki’s dark eyes glowed with the effort he was making to search the souls of the men around him.
“What do you wish from me?” he asked haughtily, withdrawing himself from too close contact with his companions.
“We have no time to lose, your—your majesty,” whispered Posadowski, impressively. “It is growing late. If you doubt our sincerity, a short drive will take us to my rooms. We have in our possession letters and diagrams taken—to be frank with you—from certain of our countrymen living in this city. These documents will prove to you that a plan has been perfected that puts your life in peril.”
“Why did you not bring the papers with you?” asked the prince suspiciously.