"Von Hügelweiler!" he cried, recognising in his roughly-clad assailant the Captain of the Guard; and quick as thought he planted a sledge-hammer blow full in his rival's face. The Captain staggered and fell, and profiting by the diversion, Trafford crossed the wide street and plunged into a narrow alley. He was running now, doubling in and out of the congested slums that formed this quarter of the town: and if there was no fear in his heart, there was a growing appreciation of the fact that his life was in danger, and that a single-handed contest with an infuriated mob was an unsatisfactory way of working off superfluous energy. For a space he threaded his rapid way through the winding alleys round the Goose-market, but the hue and cry was strong, and the neighbourhood seemed momentarily more fit for deeds of violence. But Trafford had not lost his head, and there was a motive in his flight that was born of quick thought and prospective vengeance rather than panic fear. At the door of a certain wine-shop he halted breathless; a backward glance showed his nearest pursuer fifty yards distant. "Herr Krantz!" he called, bursting into the brasserie. "Mein Herr?" "Do you recognise me?" The man surveyed him coolly. "I never forget a face, Excellency," he answered. "Good!" said Trafford. "And are you still loyal to the good Queen Gloria?" The man nodded as if the question was unnecessary. "Then you will help me," said Trafford; "I am being attacked by her enemies." Hardly had he spoken when a wild-looking man entered the shop with upraised bludgeon and a cry of "Traitor!" Trafford picked up a convenient beer-can and floored the intruder with a well-directed blow. "Close the door and shut the shutters!" called out Trafford, drawing his sword and holding at bay a couple of ruffians who had outrun the main body of his pursuers. There was little time to spare, but there were one or two early customers of Herr Krantz, who lent instant and unquestioning aid. These helped Trafford told the narrow street till the landlord had set his oaken shutters in front of the glass shop-front. Then, as the increasing pressure threatened to overwhelm them, they darted into the shop, banged the door, and shot the massive bolts. A rattle of blows resounded on the woodwork, and a chorus of fierce cries came in strident chorus from the crowded lane. Krantz switched up the electric light to relieve the darkness. "I will telephone for the police," he said. "No," said Trafford, who did not share his host's confidence in the Weidenbruck constabulary. "Ring up the Palace." Krantz retired to the telephone in the inner room, and the hammering on door and shutters went on with redoubled violence. "What is it that they want?" asked the inmates of the shop of Trafford. "Me," replied the latter. "Why?" Trafford had but the vaguest idea, but he answered boldly: "Because I am the Queen's friend."