Ned Strong smiled grimly as he cast his eyes over the group of startled Rexanians.
“I fear,” he sad, sarcastically, “that my welcome cannot include so large a party. I suppose,” he went on, addressing Posadowski, who had not slunk back into the throng, “I suppose that Rudolph Smolenski is responsible for your presence here?”
The arch-conspirator bowed sullenly.
“And who is this man, my guest—Count Szalaki?” asked Strong, sternly.
“He is the Crown Prince Carlo, heir-apparent to the throne of Rexania,” answered Posadowski, a note of triumph in his voice.
Ned Strong turned and met the large, sad eyes of the youth who had been relegated in his mind to that terra incognita where frauds and adventurers lurk and plot. The blood rushed to his face as he realized that his recent words of welcome had been tipped with sarcasm wrought by suspicion.
“Permit me to explain, Mr. Strong,” remarked Prince Carlo, quietly, while Norman Benedict, glancing excitedly at his watch, pushed forward toward the central group. “These men are dreamers. Less mad than yonder suicide, whose death shall serve them for a warning and a sign, they plot to change the laws of God and man. How they learned my secret matters not. All that is essential now is that a power greater than earth holds has rendered vain their plots and schemes and crimes. Let them reflect upon the mystery that surrounds the ways of God. They brought me to this house. Behold, I find myself the guest of the one man in many millions I have cause to call my friend! One of their brethren breaks through yonder window, bent upon my death. As I stand erect before him, the bullet that was meant for me goes crashing through his brain! Oh, blind and foolish children, learn that there are mysteries ye cannot solve. Plot no longer to change the fate of the country you have wronged, a country that found you faithless years ago and drove you from her heart. You love Rexania? Then show your love by leaving to her loyal sons her future and the future of my house. No man can serve two masters. Faithful to the land of your adoption, you cannot also be of service to Rexania. Abandon your plots and stratagems, and abide by the lesson of this night’s work. Farewell.—Mr. Strong, I am at your service.”
Prince Carlo turned abruptly from his countrymen and placed his hand upon Ned Strong’s arm. The latter looked about him for Norman Benedict, but the reporter had disappeared.
“Prince Carlo,” said Ned Strong, “I will take you to the lodge, where my sister will be very glad to renew her acquaintance with you.”
“Miss Strong is here?” exclaimed the prince, eagerly. “Indeed, the Fates are kind to me to-night.” A smile of delight played over his pale, drawn face.