CHAPTER XVII
A BOW AT A VENTURE
With a strong feeling of congratulation that he had gleaned the whole story of her wild adventure from Jessie Harcourt, Varney walked coolly up the staircase. He had little difficulty in locating the room where the dissolute ruler of Asturia lay. It was the only locked door in that corridor, and he had the key in his pocket, which key, it will be remembered, Jessie handed over to him.
The lights were still burning there; the king still lay in the huddled uniform of General Maxgregor on the bed. At the end of the corridor a telephone gleamed. Varney crossed over and called up his own confidential servant, to whom he gave a long message. This being done, he returned to the bedroom and carefully locked the door behind him. He crossed over to the bed and shook the royal occupant much as a policeman shakes a drunken tramp asleep in a gutter.
"Get up," he said. "Get up; you are wanted at once. And drink this—do you hear?"
The blear-eyed wretch sat up in bed. He was shaking from head to foot. His hands shook as he held them out for the contents of the bottle that Varney was holding—the rest of the drug that had been administered to Sir Reginald Lancing.
"I hope it won't hurt me," the king whispered. "My doctor here, Dr. Varney——"