My uniform was enough to disarm suspicion, for it was that of a regiment in which every man had sworn on the Gospel not to let Alexander escape alive. My agent had served me well. We found him at the station. The special train was ready, with steam up, waiting for the signal to place us in safety on the soil of Austria. I made Alexander take his seat in the meanest compartment, while I waited outside the station for the appearance of the two women. I waited a long time. From the town, all buried in darkness, there came sounds of tumult and exultation, which must have shaken the heart of the young man in the train. It was not till I had been there for nearly three-quarters of an hour that I saw one female form creeping feebly along the road towards the station. I darted out to meet her, and uttered an oath. Anna Petrovitch fell weeping into my arms, with the doleful cry: ‘Queen Draga is dead! Queen Draga is dead!’ Five minutes later I had placed the desolate creature in the train, and we were speeding on our way to Vienna. It was in the train that I learned the few particulars that Anna had to tell. But I had already guessed the nature of the catastrophe. Another party of soldiers, headed by a personal enemy of the Queen’s, had invaded the Royal suite through the waiting-maid’s room at the instant that Masileff and his men burst into the bedroom where the valet was lying insensible. Whether Draga’s life might really have been spared or not, it is impossible to say. The heroic woman’s resolution was instantly taken. She knew that if the valet were recognised there would at once be a hue and cry, and that the King would be pursued and probably taken; and she resolved to give her life for her husband’s. She cast herself on the inanimate form lying on the bed, concealed the face in her arms, and allowed herself to be stabbed by a dozen bayonets. [Illustration: “Queen Draga cast herself on the inanimate form on the bed, concealed the face in her arms, and allowed herself to be stabbed by a dozen bayonets.”] Of the savage details of the murder I dare not trust myself to write. To those who know how thin is the veneer of civilisation on the Southern Slaves, how faint is the moral difference between some of these so-called Christians and their Mohammedan neighbours, it will not come as a surprise to learn that when the bloodhounds desisted from their work there was no longer any possibility of recognising either of their victims. Of the young King, and what has become of him since that hideous night, I intend to say no single word. Of her who perished, let no man henceforth say anything but good. X THE POLICY OF EDWARD VII.