tremulous eloquence.
“Listen,” he cried. “You have had a Parliament and a President—Metzger. What glories has he won for you?—how has he enriched you, how much more prosperous is our country? I will tell you what he has done. He has tried to sell you and Theos for a million pounds. Oh, I am not afraid to tell you the truth, though one of you should shoot me whilst I stand here. Theos was to become a tributary state to Russia. Your country, which has defied conquest for a thousand years, was to be bartered away that one man might live in luxury on his miserable blood-money. Men of Theos, turn over the back pages of your country’s history. Think of those heroes who gave their lives that you might be free men. Think of King Rudolph, who vanquished all the hosts of Austria, or King Ughtred, who drove the Turks back across the Balkans in midwinter, and with five thousand ill-armed men routed the whole army of the Sultan. Remember Rudolph the Second, who defended this very city for twelve months against fifty thousand Turks, until for very shame England held up her hand and all Europe rang with the gallantry of our King and his little band of half-starved soldiers. Leave Republics to nations who have no past, and whose souls are steeped in commerce. What have we to do with them? We have a magnificent history, an ancient and glorious country. We have soldiers, few perhaps, but matchless throughout the world. And men of Theos, listen. Metzger has gone far in his treachery. I know nothing of your State affairs, but this I do know. The covetousness of those with whom he dealt is whetted. They are not likely to bear their disappointment quietly. Before many months have passed the storm may burst—the war beacons may be flaring round our borders. So I say to you, have no more dealings with Republics. Scatter your Parliament to the four winds of Heaven, summon back your ancient House of Laws, choose for yourselves a soldier King, one of the ancient and royal race, who shall rule you as his forefathers did in times of peace, and ride before you with drawn sword when the war clouds gather.”
The babel of many voices broke loose. Reist felt his sister’s fingers close upon his arm.
“It is you who must be their King, Nicholas.”
He shook his head. Then they saw that he would speak again, and the murmur of voices died away. Reist leaned over towards them, and his face was very pale. This was his renunciation.
“My people,” he said, “listen. Many of you have heard of the war which the English have been carrying on in Egypt. You have heard perhaps of a Captain Erlito, who, with a dozen men, held a Nile fort for two days against a thousand dervishes, and for this and other acts of valour has won the Iron Cross. But this at least you do not know. Captain Erlito is the assumed name of Ughtred of Tyrnaus, Prince of Theos.”
The murmur of voices became a roar of acclamation. Then Nicholas of Reist raised his voice at once.
“Listen, men of Theos,” he cried. “Is it your will that I seek out for you Prince Ughtred and offer him the throne of Theos? Think well before you answer. He is a soldier, a brave and honest man, and he is of the royal race of Tyrnaus, who for many generations have been Kings of Theos. He will not sell you to Russia or beckon the hosts of the Sultan across the mountains. Will you have him for your King?”
The square, nay, the city, rang with their passionate answer. Never was anything more unanimous. Nicholas stepped back into the room. His sister faced him with blazing eyes and cheeks dyed red with anger.
“Fool!” she cried, “fool! They would have made you King. They were yours to do what you would with. You have been false to your destiny. I will never forgive you, Nicholas.”
He smiled curiously, and pointed upwards to that deep-engraven legend.
“My time,” he said, “is not yet.”
CHAPTER III
The lift went rumbling up to the topmost storey of the great block of flats, and stopped at last with something of a groan. The gates were opened, and Reist stepped out. He looked about him at the bare walls, the stone floor, and shrugged his shoulders. Erlito was none too well lodged then—soldiering had brought him some brief fame, but little else. Then he suddenly smiled. The incongruity of the thing was ridiculous. His sense of humour, by no means a characteristic trait of the man, was touched. The smile lingered upon his lips. He had come to offer a kingdom to a pauper!
The lift-boy slammed his gates and prepared to descend.
“Captain Erlito’s rooms are at the end of the passage, sir,” he volunteered. “Last door on the left.”
The information was properly rewarded, and the boy’s tolerant contempt for the foreigner, who at his journey’s end seemed afflicted with a curious hesitation, became an extinct thing. He pulled the rope and descended in hot haste, a large silver coin locked in his fingers and a glorious tingling sensation of unbounded wealth in his bosom.
Reist knocked at the door which had been pointed out to him, and waited. There came no answer. He tried again, and became conscious of a confused volume of sounds within, altogether drowning his summons for admission. He listened, perplexed. Light and rapid footsteps, the swishing of a silken skirt, a clear, musical laugh and cry of triumph, a succession of sounds which were wholly meaningless to him. Surely it was some sort of pandemonium. A momentary silence was followed by a chorus of voices. Reist raised his stick and knocked more loudly. A man’s voice travelled out to him like mild thunder.
“Come in!”
Reist opened the door and crossed the threshold. Before him was an explanation of the sounds which he had heard. Only he was, if possible, a little more bewildered than ever.
He was in a high, bare apartment, carpetless, and almost without furniture. Across the middle of the floor was stretched an upright net, and on either side of it were chalk-marked squares. Facing him was a girl with her left foot poised slightly forward, her arm raised, in the act of striking a feathered cork with a small racquet. By her side was a man whom Reist recognized at once. Directly he saw his visitor he stopped the game.
“One moment, Miss Van Decht,” he cried. “I am wanted.”
He crossed the room, swinging his racquet in his hand, and addressed Reist with a pleasant smile.
“We have been making so much noise,” he said, “that I am afraid we did not hear your first knock. I am Captain Erlito. You wished to see me?”
Reist looked him steadily and full in the face. If physique went for anything this man was surely born to be a King. He was well over six feet, splendidly made, and of military appearance. His features were clean-cut in the unmistakable Tyrnaus mould—only his mouth, which, stern though it was, was full of humour, seemed unfamiliar. His eyes were a wonderful deep blue, and his skin bronzed and burned with the Egyptian sun. A momentary bitterness possessed Reist. The people of Theos would care little for the brains which this man might lack. The first glance of him would be sufficient. They would shout him King till they were hoarse.
“You do not remember me, then?” Reist asked, softly.
Erlito stood swinging his racquet lightly in his fingers, and looked into his visitor’s face with pleasant and deferential courtesy.
“Do you know,” he said, “I am very sorry, but I am afraid that I do not. I have a very bad memory for faces. There is something about yours which seems to me familiar, but it comes from a long way back.”
Reist smiled faintly.
