With the swift acumen born of pressing danger, Trafford stooped down, and picking up a lump of frozen snow, dashed it in his enemy's face. A shrewd blow in the midriff followed this tactical success, and further punishment would have befallen the unhappy man had not his original victim, freed from two of his three aggressors, gained his feet, and in his effort to escape, cannoned so violently and unexpectedly into Trafford, that the enterprising American lost his balance and fell precipitately into the soft snow. When he regained his feet he saw a tall form flying rapidly down the street, with two assailants in hot pursuit. "You've begun well!" said a soft voice in his ear. Trafford turned and faced the Princess. "Begun well?" he repeated, brushing the snow from his person. "A good beginning for your work of winning me a throne." "I don't understand." "Our bargain is on again," she declared, with suppressed enthusiasm, "unless you wish it otherwise?" He looked into her fearless eyes, which fell at length before his own. "We will let it stand," he agreed curtly. "But what of your friend?" he went on, "will he get away?" "If he wishes," answered the Princess easily. "It would take more than two men to capture Father Bernhardt. I have no further anxiety on his account, but what about me--poor me?" "About you?" he repeated, without understanding. "Where am I to spend the night?" Trafford passed his hand through his ruffled locks, dislodging therefrom several pieces of frozen snow. Then he looked at the man who had staggered under his blow against the wall, and who was eyeing them with a malignancy that bespoke rapid recuperation. The man who had fallen into the street had risen to his knees and was muttering something--a curse or a prayer--and might speedily exchange speech for action. The two pursuers of Father Bernhardt might return,--baffled of their prey and breathing threatenings and slaughter,--at any moment. Trafford grasped the Princess's hand and dragged her across the street. "Herr Krantz's wine shop," he insisted. "Is in the occupation of spies," retorted the Princess. "Then what----?" "The Hôtel Concordia," proposed the Princess calmly. "The Hôtel Concordia!" he echoed. "Yes. Your sister has just arrived from England and wants a small room at the top of the house. Her luggage, naturally, has gone astray. You are a friend of Herr Saunders, and consequently above suspicion. Do not be alarmed, my friend, I shall leave early and I will pay for my bed and breakfast." Trafford tugged each moustache violently in turn. "So be it," he said at length. "It is all part of the bargain. Come, little new-found sister, let us find a sleigh to drive us to the Hôtel Concordia." CHAPTER NINE THE KING'S BREAKFAST