The inn was an oriental-looking house built round a courtyard, but conforming to the customs of the West so far as to possess a coffee-room--a fact which was proudly announced in German and Thracian in very large letters. There were no windows on the exterior of the house to the ground-floor rooms, a testimony to the frequent occurrence of border raids and attacks from brigands in the days when the inn was built, but balconies ran round each of the two upper storeys, both inside and outside, giving the only means of access to the rooms which opened upon them. The courtyard was thronged with people, among whom Caerleon fancied he recognised some of the harvesters that Nadia and he had met a fortnight before, and they watched with breathless curiosity the three dusty figures in tourist suits and hobnailed boots, and commented upon their appearance audibly but unintelligibly. The landlord, who met them at the door, bowed almost to the ground before them, but as he could speak no tongue of Western Europe, they were unable to question him as to the nature of the attraction which had brought the crowd together. Behind him, however, stood Wright the groom, doing his best to compose his face, which had wreathed itself into an irrepressible grin of delight at welcoming his master, into the blank immobility which he considered becoming and suitable. In his hand was a visiting-card, which he presented to Caerleon. “The gentleman up-stairs give it me for you, my lord, and ’e’s waitin’ for you in the coffee-room, and I do ’ope, my lord, if I may make so bold, as your lordship don’t think of stayin’ long in this ’ere country, where there ain’t a creetur can speak a word of a Crishtan tongue.” “That remains to be seen,” said Cyril, looking round Caerleon’s shoulder at the card, and seeing, as he expected, the name of M. Drakovics. “Has the old brute come to plague me again about his precious kingdom?” said Caerleon, impatiently. “He might have waited until I had made myself respectable, at any rate. Well, I suppose I must see him, but I’ll wash off a little of the dust of travel first”--“and just ask Nadia what she really thinks about the business,” he added to himself, as Wright led the way up-stairs, and along the gallery which crossed the front of the house. “Which are the O’Malachy’s rooms, Wright?” he asked aloud, but as he spoke, Madame O’Malachy glided out of a doorway near him with her finger on her lip. “Ah, my dear marquis, I am enchanted to see you!” she said, brightly. “But I will not detain you; you are summoned to more important business than talking with a chattering old woman--is it not so? Only I would ask you to have the great kindness to step softly and not to speak loud, for my daughter is a little indisposed.” “Miss O’Malachy ill? I hope it is not serious?” cried Caerleon.