“Yes, I know. Quite a quiet little place. I will never be recognised there.”
“Well, at half-past eight. The dinner will be over then, and the place will be empty.”
“Agreed. Addio,” she said, and they grasped hands quickly. Then he put on his overcoat, and went out with the Count, while five minutes later Peters, ignorant of her identity, showed the Princess out, and accompanied her downstairs to the door.
As Waldron and the Count entered the fine Quirinale Palace they were challenged by the sentries at the great gateway, whereupon the aide-de-camp gave the password and they saluted.
Then, crossing the great handsome courtyard, they entered by one of the smaller doors, and passing round the gallery to the huge gilded staircase where two servants in the royal livery stood on either side like statues. They ascended, and passing along a well-carpeted corridor, halted at last before a heavy mahogany door outside which stood a sentry on duty—the door of the King’s private cabinet.
Again the Count uttered the password, was saluted, and was then allowed to knock.
A deep voice gave permission to enter, whereupon Hubert Waldron crossed the threshold and bowed low in the presence of a rather short, middle-aged man of smart military appearance, though he wore civilian evening dress with a single decoration on the breast of his coat, the Star of the Order of the Crown of Italy, of which he was Master.
The room was not large, but was tastefully, even luxuriantly furnished. In the centre stood a great mahogany writing-table piled with papers, from which he had just risen, while at the side was set an armchair for those to whom His Majesty gave audience.
“Ah, Waldron, I am very glad they have found you so quickly,” he exclaimed, putting out his hand in gracious welcome. “I want to have a confidential chat with you. I want you to assist me, for I feel sure you can.”
“If I can serve Your Majesty in any way,” replied the British diplomat, “I am, as you know, only too anxious and too willing.”