“You have one more chance,” said Louis O’Malachy to Caerleon. “Will you sign?”
“No,” returned Caerleon, doggedly.
“Then I must carry out my orders. Your fate is on your own head.”
CHAPTER XXI.
A REVOLT OR A REVOLUTION?
While Caerleon and his two companions were lying bound on the grand staircase of the palace, under the charge of General Sertchaieff, Prince Otto Georg was aroused from sleep by a sudden incursion of armed men into his room. Sitting up, he blinked curiously at them as their leader turned on the electric light and came to his bedside.
“It is my duty to inform your Highness that you are my prisoner,” were the words which met his ears, and which were emphasised by the casual display of a revolver in the hand of the speaker.
“I do not think,” said the Prince, with extreme mildness, fumbling the while mechanically but unsuccessfully for his eyeglass, “that I have the pleasure of recognising your face, sir. When were you presented to me?”
“My name is O’Malachy,” returned the intruder, “and I am a captain in the army of King Peter II. of Thracia. It is unfortunate that your Highness’s visit to Bellaviste should chance to coincide with a slight readjustment of affairs here—the restoration of the rightful sovereign, and the overthrow of the tyranny under which the country has groaned for so long.”
“I assure you that I fully perceive my presence to be de trop in these painful domestic circumstances,” said the Prince.
“Pray do not imagine for a moment that your Highness will be put to any inconvenience. You are the guest of King Peter instead of the usurper Carlino, that is all. I regret that I am obliged, merely as a matter of form, to post a sentry, by General Sertchaieff’s directions, in the corridor outside your door, with orders to fire if you attempt to leave your room.”