"Another seven-year-old?"
"Not at all. A grown man, sir. He, your countryman, is the real power behind our throne. On his deathbed, the Prince's father placed his son in this American's charge and begged him to stand by him through thick and thin until the lad is able to take care of himself. As if there were not loyal men in Graustark who might have done as much for their Prince!"
King looked interested. "I see. The people, no doubt, resent this espionage. Is that it?"
Spantz gave him a withering look, as much as to say that he was a fool to ask such a question in a place so public. Without replying, he got to his feet and made ready to leave the little garden.
"I must return. I have been away too long. Thank you, sir, for your kindness to an old man. Good day, sir, and—"
"Hold on! I think I'll walk over with you and have another look at that broadsword. I'm—"
"To-morrow, sir. It is past time to close the shop for to-day. Come to-morrow. Good day."
He was crossing the sidewalk nimbly before King could offer a word of remonstrance. With a disappointed sigh, the American sank back in his chair, and watched his odd companion scurry across the square. Suddenly he became conscious of a disquieting feeling that some one was looking at him intently from behind. He turned in his chair and found himself meeting the gaze of a ferocious looking, military appearing little man at a table near by. To his surprise, the little man's fierce stare maintained its peculiarly personal intentness until he, himself, was compelled to withdraw his own gaze in some little confusion and displeasure. His waiter appeared at his elbow with the change.
"Who the devil is that old man at the table there?" demanded young Mr. King loudly.
The waiter assumed a look of extreme insolence. "That is Baron Dangloss, Minister of Police. Anything more, sir?"