"A telephone message has just come through from the police-station; it is good news. With that devil-ridden priest at large, and Nervy Trafford fooling about, it's tough work keeping a sane Government on its legs."
"I thought you were not going to let Mr. Trafford leave the Palace?" interjected Mrs. Saunders.
"That was certainly our intention," admitted Saunders, "but he argued otherwise, his argument taking the practical form of a six-chambered revolver, and—well——"
"He threatened you?" interrupted Mrs. Saunders indignantly.
"Not me, perhaps; but Meyer certainly by implication. Anyway, we let him go to his fate. He will quite probably be shot heading a charge against the military. In anything of a disturbance he sees red, and his thinking powers come automatically to a standstill."
"I hate this Mr. Trafford!" exclaimed Frau von Bilderbaum in harsh, guttural tones, and puffing furiously at her cigarette. "Why does not he stay in his own country and wreck that? I hate him!"
"I don't," said Mrs. Saunders quietly; "I rather like him. But I wish my husband had knocked him on the head rather than let him leave the Neptunburg."
At this point the door opened and the King entered, accompanied by General von Bilderbaum. The General's face was scarlet, contrasting effectively with his snowy hair and moustache and the immaculate whiteness of his uniform. His manner,—like that of his wife,—was strongly agitated, and it was evident that the civic tumult had roused his fighting spirit to a point dangerously near apoplexy. The King, in contrast, looked grey and sad, but his face brightened a little as the ladies rose at his entrance.
"Things seem to be quieting down a little in the Domkircheplatz," he said. "I have been talking to my Prefect Kummer on the telephone, and he thinks the square will be empty in half an hour."
"I am glad," said Mrs. Saunders simply.