He returned in a few minutes with both weapons, and explained their action to the guests, General Sertchaieff showing special interest in the subject, and examining the mechanism over and over again. Indeed, it appeared almost that he had looked at it too long for his peace of mind, for just before taking his leave, after arranging that the Prince should visit the arsenal in a day or two with Caerleon, in order to inspect the new machinery, which would then be unpacked, he might have been observed to slip Cyril’s revolver into his own pocket, and take it away with him. Cyril did not happen to remember to look for it when he went to bed, and the loss was therefore not discovered. Prince Otto Georg was duly escorted to the rooms he occupied in the front of the palace, Caerleon and Cyril betook themselves to theirs in the southern wing, and silence settled down upon the building. Cyril had been asleep for some time when he was awakened by a low, hurried tapping at his door. Sitting up in bed, he called to the intruder to come in, wondering sleepily why the sentry in the passage could not keep people from knocking him up in the middle of the night. To his astonishment it was Wright who entered, closing the door carefully behind him, and striking a match on his clothes as he advanced. “How dare you come here like this, Wright?” demanded Cyril, angrily. “You must be drunk.” Wright took no notice of the accusation, but lit a candle, and placed it in such a position that the mirror came between it and the window. “No, my lord,” arresting Cyril’s hand as he was about to turn on the electric light, “don’t show no more light, if you vally your life. I’ve been down at the stables, my lord, lookin’ to ’is Majesty’s charger, as was ’urt to-day by the General’s ’orse knockin’ up agin ’im, and when I come back to the ’ouse, I see as things ain’t right. Do your lordship know as there ain’t a single sentry anywheres about? I come all the way up ’ere without meetin’ one, nor a servant neither, right from the door I come in at.” “Good gracious!” cried Cyril, “there must be something wrong. Can the guards have deserted in a lump?” “Well, my lord,” said Wright, “they may be all a-sleepin’ quiet in their beds, or they mayn’t.” “We must go down and rout them out,” said Cyril, getting out of bed. “You go in by this door, Wright, and wake the King, while I get some clothes on.” Almost the first thought that now occurred to Cyril’s mind was the recollection of his revolver, but when he looked for it in vain in its accustomed place, he remembered that he must have left it down-stairs. “I must go and hunt it up,” he said to himself, as he hurried into his clothes. “Caerleon has got his, at any rate. I remember now that he was carrying it.” But while the words were in his mouth, Caerleon came in hastily in his shirt-sleeves, with his revolver in his hand.