"It is indeed the great catastrophe, monsieur," he said. "The King is dying. I have just come from the palace where the official bulletins are published. He has not recovered consciousness. The physicians hold out no hope."
Fenton's worst fears were realised. It was some minutes before he could recover sufficient composure to go on.
"Has the assassin been caught?" he asked.
Monsieur Dubois shook his head. Then lines of anger and determination showed around his eyes and mouth. He elevated one arm and shook the bow menacingly. "The arch assassin, he shall pay for this!" he exclaimed. "It is told everywhere on the streets that it was Miridoff who planned the murder of the King—the strong King who was needed to lead Ironia to victory. Ironia has a heavy score to settle with Miridoff."
"Miridoff is dead," said Fenton.
"How do you know?" demanded the musician eagerly. "There is nothing known of the Grand Duke's whereabouts. Serajoz is full of the mystery."
"He is dead beyond all doubt," declared the Canadian. "I killed him myself."
Followed a brief recital of some of the principal events in the mountains which had led up to the capture of the hunting lodge, and the release of the princess. Monsieur Dubois could hardly restrain himself. At the conclusion of the narrative he seized Fenton by both hands and poured out a volley of incoherent praise.
"My young friend has had a most great honour," he wound up by saying. "It has fallen to his lot to rescue the Queen of Ironia. What honours shall be heaped upon him!"
"What do you mean?" demanded Fenton, almost roughly.