The king had been hurried to the cabin by his suite and Captain Brookes. A moment later he emerged and joined the group surrounding Clif.
“I want to see the brave American boy who saved my life,” he insisted. “It was he who foiled that assassin and he shall have my heartfelt thanks.”
“But, your majesty,” implored one of his military staff, in Portuguese, “there may be other wretches on board. They may make another attempt on you.”
“Then keep every one at a distance,” was the retort. “Act rather than talk. It is strange you and your comrades did not prevent that man from making his attempt. What has been done to capture him?”
“Word was sent ashore at once, sire. A launch is even now on the way with instructions to the chief of police and the general in charge of the district. The assassin will be in prison before dark.”
“See that he is!” exclaimed the king, imperiously.
Turning to Clif he extended both his hands and added in excellent English:
“My brave lad, I thank you. I deplore the wound you have received in my service.”
“It is nothing, sir,” replied Clif, simply.