“Yes, but—­”

“But, my dear lady, this revolution I have planted—­nourished and cultivated to ripeness—­I cannot harvest it.  Outside Europe must not appear interested in this matter.  If the Galavian people led by a member of the Galavian Royal House revolts! Bien! More than bien—­excellent!” Jusseret spread his palms.  “But unless there is a leader, there can be no revolution.  No, no, Louis should have kept out of custody.”

The Countess leaned forward with sudden eagerness.

“And if I free him?  If I devise a way?”

The Frenchman turned quickly from contemplation of the landscape to her face.

“Ah!” he exclaimed.  “Once more you are yourself; the cleverest woman in Europe, as, always, you are the most charming!”

“Do you know where Monsieur Martin may be found?”

Jusseret looked at her in surprise.

“I supposed he was here, consulting with you.  I sent him to you with a letter—­recommending him as a useful instrument.”

“He was in Algiers, but I sent him away.”  The Countess laughed.  “He wanted money, always money, until I wearied of furnishing his purse.”

“Even if he were available he could hardly go to Puntal, Madame,” demurred Jusseret.  “Von Ritz knows him.”

“True.”  The Countess sat for a time in deep thought.

“There is one man in Puntal,” said Jusseret with sudden thought, “who might possibly be of assistance to you.  He is not legally a citizen of Galavia.  He even has a certain official connection with another government.  He is a man I cannot myself approach.”  Jusseret had been talking in a low tone, too low to endanger being overheard by the cocher, but now with excess of caution he leaned forward and whispered a name.  The name was Jose Reebeler.

* * * * *

It was June.  Three months had passed since the Grand Duke had steamed into Puntal Harbor as Blanco’s prisoner of war.  The Duke had since that day been a guest of the King.  His goings and comings were, however, guarded with strict solicitude.  One day he went after his custom for a stroll in the Palace garden.  He was accompanied by two officers of the Palace Guard especially selected by Von Ritz for known fidelity.  At the garden gates stood picked sentinels.  That evening a fisherman’s boat stole out of the harbor.  Neither Louis Delgado nor his guard returned.  The sentinels failed to respond at roll-call.

As the King and the Colonel listened to the report of the escape, Karyl’s face paled a little and the features of Von Ritz hardened.  Orders were given for an instant dispatch in cipher, demanding from a secret agent in Algiers all information obtainable as to the movements of the Countess Astaride.  The reply brought the statement that the Countess had, several days before, sailed for Alexandria and Cairo.

Von Ritz became preternaturally active, masking every movement under his accustomed seeming of imperturbable calm.  At last he brought his report to the King.  “It signifies one thing which I had not suspected.  Among the men whom I thought I could most implicitly trust, there is treason.  How deep that cancer goes is a matter as to which we can only make guesses.”