“Although,” he added, his only word of extenuation, “God knows I tried to keep it.”
Then the message from the Countess Loschek, and his long wait in her boudoir, to return to the thing he had found. As he went on, the Chancellor’s hand touched a button.
“Bring here at once the Countess Loschek,” he said, to the servant who came. “Take two of the guard, and bring hey.”
Then, remembering the work he had to do, he took another sip of milk. “These things you have done,” he said to Nikky. “And weak and wicked enough they are. But, on the other hand, you found the King.”
“Others found him also. Besides, that does not affect my guilt, sir,” said Nikky steadily.
Suddenly the Chancellor got up and, going to Nikky, put both hands on his shoulders.
Quite to the end now, with the Countess not in her rooms or anywhere in the Palace. With the bonfires burned to cold ashes, and the streets deserted. With the police making careful search for certain men whose names Haeckel had given, and tearing frenzied placards from the walls. With Hilda sitting before her dressing-table, holding a silk stocking to her cheek, to see if she would look well in black. With Miss Braithwaite still lying in her drugged sleep, watched over by the Sisters who had cared for the dead King, and with Karl, across the mountains, dreaming of a bride who would never be his.
Quite to the end. Only a word or two now, and we may leave the little King to fulfil his splendid destiny. Not a quiet life, we may be certain. Perhaps not a very peaceful or untroubled one. But a brave and steadfast and honorable one, be sure of that.
What should we gain by following Olga Loschek, eating her heart out in England, or the Committee of Ten, cowering in its cells? They had failed, as the wicked, sooner or later, must fail. Or Karl, growing fat in a prosperous land, alike greedy for conquest and too indolent for battle?
To finish the day, then, and close with midnight.