“No. The Queen sprung a surprise on everybody. She produced a princess everyone thought was dead. Maria Lalena is Queen of Alaria now.”
“Maria Lalena!” the voice whispered, and I could not tell whether the man was laughing or sobbing, but his voice was shaking. “You are sure the Queen did that, not Conrad?”
“Look here,” I said. “This doesn’t sound right to me. Who the devil are you, anyway?”
“That I must not tell you.”
“I am afraid to take you to the Palace unless you do.”
“I am a monk,” he said, “attached to the service of the Royal Family. I was King Bela’s confidant, and, in many things, the Queen’s also, but of this Princess Maria Lalena I knew nothing. Gentlemen, I beg of you, take me to the Royal Palace.”
And, still doubting the safety and wisdom of the course, I did.
A sentry stood motionless on either side of the gate. John leaned forward, and showed the pass the monk had written. “Do you know that signature?” He asked in German. The man saluted smartly. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “Certainly I know it, but we have orders to allow no one to enter here without a special pass signed within twenty-four hours. I am sorry.”
“Oh,” John said. “I did not notice that that had a date. Here, anyway, is one signed within twenty-four hours, for I saw it signed myself.” He offered the second of our passenger’s signed slips of paper.
For answer, the two sentries stared for an instant, and then thrust their bayonets at us, and called out. Two more men appeared from behind the gate.