He spoke as if what he said disposed of the Megalians finally. The front of his yellow waistcoat expanded when he mentioned the Great Powers. This was only proper. A man who speaks with authority about Great Powers ought to swell a little.
“The Megalian people,” he went on, “have hitherto preserved a strict neutrality.”
“So the king gave me to understand,” said Gorman, “He says his late subjects go about and plunder their neighbours impartially. They don’t mind a bit which side anybody is on so long as there is a decent chance of loot.”
“The Megalians,” said Sir Bartholomew, “are a fighting race, and in the critical position of Balkan Affairs—a delicate equipoise—” He seemed taken with the phrase for he repeated it—“A remarkably delicate equipoise—the intervention of the Megalian Army would turn the scale and—I feel certain—decide the issue. All that is required to secure the action of the Megalians is the presence in the country of a leader, someone whom the people know and recognise, someone who can appeal to the traditional loyalty of a chivalrous race, in short——”
“You can’t be thinking of the late king?” said Gorman. “They’re not the least loyal to him. They deposed him, you know. In fact by his account—I wasn’t there myself at the time—but he told me that they tried to hang him. He says that if they ever catch him they certainly will hang him. He doesn’t seem to have hit it off with them.”
Sir Bartholomew waved these considerations aside.
“An emotional and excitable people,” he said, “but, believe me, Mr. Gorman, warm-hearted, and capable of devotion to a trusted leader. They will rally round the king, if——”
“I’m not at all sure,” said Gorman, “that the king will care about going there to be rallied round. It’s a risk, whatever you say.”
“I appreciate that point,” said Sir Bartholomew. “Indeed it is just because I appreciate it so fully that I am asking for your advice and help, Mr. Gorman. You know the king. You are, I may say, his friend.”
“Pretty nearly the only friend he has,” said Gorman.