“I have a reason, milord,” answered M. Drakovics. “That my opinion does not accord with yours is a matter for regret; but I hope that it will not be anything more. I am deeply anxious that you should remain at Bellaviste, for I need your help.” “Oh, I suppose I may as well stay here and take Caerleon’s body home when you have got him shot as a filibuster by a Scythian force sent to restore order,” said Cyril. “You are pleased to be sarcastic, milord,” said M. Drakovics. “Without in the least allowing that the calamity which you prophesy is likely to occur, I would ask you to remember that the cause is more important than the man. If Roum recognises our choice of a king, our future position as a free nation is unassailable, and we are justified in the sight of Europe. If your brother is crowned king at once, we are merely, under present circumstances, a vassal State which has rebelled, and elected its own ruler. No one could be more grateful to his Majesty for accepting the crown than I am, but Thracia must come first.” “I see,” said Cyril; “your business is to take care of Thracia. Very well, be it so; mine will be to take care of Caerleon. The kingdom will only be a secondary thing with me, as part of Caerleon’s property.” “Then I hope, milord, that you will prove your care by persuading his Majesty to exercise greater prudence than you both showed last night. To walk through the streets alone, and in disguise, in the midst of crowds of strangers, to the lodging of a family of Scythian spies, where the merest trifle--an accident with a pistol, a drop of poison in a cup of coffee--might have effected the utmost that Scythia could desire, can scarcely be called wise.” “Well, if you had your eye on us all the time we ought to have been fairly safe,” said Cyril, angry but taken aback. “You surely do not imagine that I should allow the King to risk his life so rashly without taking precautions to ensure his safety?” said M. Drakovics. “You were followed the whole way by one of my most trusted agents in the Police, a man whom you will do well always to order to accompany you if his Majesty chooses to go out again _incognito_. You had no idea that you were tracked, but he never lost sight of you.” “Until we reached the hotel, I suppose?” said Cyril. “On the contrary, you were never more carefully watched than during your visit there. Ever since Colonel O’Malachy and his wife arrived in Bellaviste, a police agent in a room on the opposite side of the street has kept them under constant surveillance by means of mirrors ingeniously placed at different angles, so that you were in full view during the whole time you spent in their _salon_.” “But what is the object of all this police shadowing?” asked Cyril, rather disgusted.