"Stand up, and farther off," came the contemptuous command. "I am not accustomed to doing my own police work. You need not try to escape; the guard is within call. I might have had you arrested half an hour ago when I first saw you." "Royal Highness, how--why--" Stanief answered the stupefied gaze, coldly amused. "Because it interested me to watch your attempt. I keep a mirror on my desk, not being without experience. Who sent you to kill me?" "Royal Highness, my brother was hung last week." "As you this week. Well?" The man winced. "Royal Highness, we wanted freedom. They tell us that while your Royal Highness lives it can not be; the country is too firmly held and too content. So we strive to act in time." He spoke as one reciting a lesson, monotonously, with effort. His type was familiar, lacking even the poor excuse of originality. "Your brother was executed for an attempt to kill me?" "Serenity, he worked in the palace kitchen and put poison in a cup of chocolate." "I remember. He was tried; I had nothing to do with his case." He paused, considering; and the other stared at him in mute fascination. "Before I ring to have you removed, have you anything to say?" "Gracious Highness, pardon!" Stanief regarded him with scornful amazement. "Pardon? You are mad, _mon ami_. Do you fancy me a child or a woman to set you free after this performance? Why should I pardon you? You do not interest me in the least. Go face your trial; my share in the incident is ended," and Stanief turned away. "Royal Highness, mercy--I am afraid! Not that--I will--" "What?" "Buy," he offered desperately. "Royalty, not to sell my comrades--who are we in your sight--there is some one else, some one of the court who wishes your death." Stanief stopped with his finger on the bell and bent his keen eyes on the livid face. It was not a pleasant spectacle, this sordid, trembling figure in the firelight, but an uglier specter loomed behind it. "Go on, if you choose," he conceded. "You have my permission." "Royal Highness, not my comrades. But he is not of us; he urges us here to fail and die. You are the master; Royal Highness, his name for grace." "I promise you nothing. Certainly not your liberty." "No, no, but life!" he made a movement to throw himself at the Regent's feet, but drew back before the decided negative. "Royal Highness, to live, only to live. He is a great lord, he goes to court; he hates and fears you. Royal Highness, he is the Baron Sergius Dalmorov." "Ah," observed Stanief, and said nothing more for several minutes. His all given, the man waited feverishly, not daring to speak except by his imploring gaze. But Stanief finally pushed the button without vouching a reply. "Dimitri," he said curtly to the officer who appeared in answer to the summons, "take this man and have him imprisoned until I send for him again. Understand me; there is no charge against him at present; simply he is a prisoner at my pleasure."