"A most determined rescue," added Meyer.
"A most determined and reckless rescue," affirmed Saunders, meeting Meyer's glance without flinching.
"But your advice, Saunders," said the King.
"I gave it you yesterday, sire. Act! Hitherto we have schemed. We have been patting the mad dog on the head, but as he still shows his teeth,—shoot him!"
"Who is the 'him'?" demanded Meyer. "The sort of person who rescues rebels when they are being arrested?"
"By mad dog," explained Saunders, "I meant the snarling, discontented, dangerous element in Weidenbruck. We have had plenty of clever schemes for pacification. What we want is a little stupid brutality."
"Saunders is right," said the King. "In theory I am a Democrat, a Socialist, a believer in the divinity of the vox populi. In practice I am a believer in platoon firing and lettres de cachet. There are only two nations in Europe who are genuinely capable of self-government, and Grimland is not one of them. We have tried the velvet glove, and we must show that it contains a hand of steel, and not a palsied member."
"So be it," said Meyer, with a slight inclination of his head. "We will give the policy of open repression a trial, a fair trial and a full trial, and may the God of Jews and Gentiles teach the loyalists to shoot straight."
Saunders scanned Meyer's face critically. There was no colour in his sunken cheek, no fire in his heavy eye. The man had no stomach for fighting, and his complex nature abhorred straightforward measures. Yet he had proved himself a faithful servant before, and though life meant more to him than to most soldiers, he was not one to purchase personal safety by the betrayal of his sovereign.
Again Herr Bomcke upraised his honeyed tones.