“As for the gang,” continued Mr. Priestley, when his cigarette was alight, “they’re quite easily explained. They were a body of malcontents (Communists, I think) from Bosnogovina who have repeatedly expressed their determination to exterminate the dynasty altogether and so prevent Bosnogovina from reverting to a monarchy even should it feel inclined. My friend thinks that quite definitely established, though unfortunately no trace of the ruffians has been found. And in official circles it is taken for granted (fortunately for us!) that it was members of this gang who shot the Crown Prince. Of course they have the constable’s descriptions of you and me, but they think we are members of the Communist gang, if you understand.” “Do they?” said Laura mechanically. “Yes, I’m glad indeed to say they do. On the other hand (and this is where we are not so fortunate) the most urgent search is being prosecuted by the Secret Service, whose resources I understand to be simply unlimited, to discover our whereabouts. I realised when I heard this how extremely rash I had been in going to see my friend and actually in his official quarters. It was a terrible risk.” Mr. Priestley expelled a cloud of smoke with the modest demeanour of one who knows he is a brave and reckless fellow and has no need to brag about it. “Good Heavens!” was all Laura could think of to say, but she said it with a good deal of feeling. Mr. Priestley paused for a few moments to admire himself. He had told a good story, and he thought he had told it well. As far as he could remember, he had included every single point that had been impressed upon him. He glanced at his companion almost maliciously, if that is not too strong a word even to hint at in connection with Mr. Priestley. What he saw in that young woman’s countenance gave him a good deal of wicked pleasure. He knew it was wicked pleasure, but he just didn’t care. Mr. Priestley had developed a good deal in the last forty-eight hours. He considered his next words with the care of an artist. “Of course,” he said slowly, “you can see how this affects us. Our precautions must be intensified beyond measure.” “Must they?” said Laura quite humbly. “Indeed they must,” replied Mr. Priestley with energy. “Do you realise, my dear niece, that every policeman in the country is furnished with the most careful description of our two selves that it has been possible to obtain? Every step we take outside these rooms is fraught with danger. Simply fraught with danger,” repeated Mr. Priestley, pleased with the phrase. “Is it?” “Good gracious, yes, I should think it is. You, therefore, Laura,” continued Mr. Priestley in tones of unwonted command, “will not set foot outside these rooms at all.” Laura stared at him. “But I must! I shall have to——”