'Lodged, by whom?'
'Captain Mattei Guebhard.'
Cecil laughed, but angrily, nevertheless.
'Herr Lieutenant,' said the provost-marshal, a grim-looking old sabreur, 'you may find this a hanging, and not a laughing, matter!'
'Thus,' continued the deputy minister of police, 'we have orders to examine your person for secret papers, if, by the delay foolishly accorded to you, they have not been destroyed.'
'Papers—what papers?'
'That, as yet, can only be known to yourself.'
On this his attendant made a pace towards Cecil, who haughtily motioned him by his hand to pause, ere he laid a hand upon him.
'You delivered the despatches of General Tchernaieff to the King at Belgrade?' resumed the police official.
'To the King—yes.'