Two curtained carriages drove across Galata Bridge and in the mysterious quiet of Stamboul there was no ripple on the surface of affairs as other tourists haggled over a few piastres in the curio shops of the bazaar.

CHAPTER XXVII

BENTON SAYS GOOD-BY

Louis Delgado awaited Jusseret in an agony of doubt and fear.

The Frenchman was late.  A dispatch from the frontier had announced his coming, but to the anxiety of Delgado delays seemed numberless and interminable.

At last an aide ushered him into the apartment where the new Monarch waited, his inevitable glass of Pernod and anisette twisting in his fingers.  Jusseret bowed.

“Where is Martin?” inquired the King.

“Dead,” said the newcomer briefly.  The Pretender paled palpably.  Evidently the plan had gone awry.  Fear always stood near the fore, ready to rush out upon Delgado’s timid spirit.

“And being dead,” resumed the Frenchman, “he is much safer.”

Louis gave a half-shuddering sigh of relief.  He had none of that righteous horror of crime which makes the face of murder hideous, but in its place he had all the terrors of the weak, and playing with life and death gave him over to panic.

“I should suggest an announcement that King Karyl had fled for a time from the cares of State and was traveling as a private gentleman in strictest incognito, when sudden death overtook him.  There need be no hint of violence.  There must be a State funeral.”

“Where is the body?” objected Louis.

Jusseret shrugged his shoulders.

“That I cannot say.  I can, however, assure you that it is quite lifeless.  Since the death occurred some days ago the lying in State may be dispensed with.  A closed casket is sufficient.”

“And his Queen?”

“That point is left unguarded, but from intimations I have received, I believe the Queen will be satisfied with private life.  If you announce her abdication, she will hardly contradict you.”

“And Von Ritz?” persisted Louis, with the manner of one who wishes all the ghosts which terrify him laid by someone stronger and less afraid of ghosts than himself.

“Leave Von Ritz to me.  He is no fool.  Von Ritz knows who instigated the murder of the King, but he is without proof.  The thing happened far beyond the borders of Galavia.”

Louis rose unsteadily from his chair.

“Jusseret,” he began, “this interview with Marie still confronts me and I dread it.  Would it not be better for you to explain to her?  You could persuade her that Kings are not free in these matters, that crowned heads from antiquity to Napoleon have been compelled to obey the dictates of State.”

The Frenchman stiffened.

“Your Majesty,” he observed, “it is impossible.  Your attachment for the Countess Astaride is a personal matter.  I am concerned only in affairs of State.  I must even require of you, in respect to that confidence which obtains between gentlemen, that you shall in no wise intimate that this suggestion came from me.”