The great house was almost emptied of its guests when the solitary figure that had sat in the cherry-garden passed out along the deserted corridors. Daunt went utterly oblivious that its bright pageantry had departed. A feverish color was in his cheek and his eyes were dulled with a painful apathy.
Count Voynich was lighting a cigarette in the cloak room as he entered. "Sic transit!" he said. "This calls a quick halt on the plans of the Squadron's entertainment, doesn't it!"
There was no answer. Daunt was fumbling, from habit, for the lettered disk of wood in his pocket.
"If the King could have lived a few weeks longer," said Voynich, "we'd have heard no more talk of trouble with Japan. He was a great peacemaker. The new regent may be less circumspect. What do you think?"
No reply. He spoke again sharply.
"I say, Miss Fairfax seems to be making a tremendous walkover, eh?"
There was only silence. Daunt did not hear him. Voynich looked at his face, whistled softly under his breath, and went quietly away.