Barney laid his hand upon the old man’s shoulder.  It seemed a shame to carry the deception further, but the American well knew that only so could he accomplish aught for Lutha or the Von der Tanns.  Once the old chancellor suspected the truth as to his identity he would be the first to denounce him.

“I think that you and I can work together, Prince Ludwig,” he said.  “I have sent for the Serbian and Austrian ministers.  The former should be here immediately.”

Nor did they have long to wait before the tall Slav was announced.  Barney lost no time in getting down to business.  He asked no questions.  What Von der Tann had told him, what he had seen with his own eyes since he had entered Lutha, and what he had overheard in the inn at Burgova was sufficient evidence that the fate of Lutha hung upon the prompt and energetic decisions of the man who sat upon Lutha’s throne for the next few days.

Had Leopold been the present incumbent Lutha would have been lost, for that he would play directly into the hands of Austria was not to be questioned.  Were Von der Tann to seize the reins of government a state of revolution would exist that would divide the state into two bitter factions, weaken its defense, and give Austria what she most desired—­a plausible pretext for intervention.

Lutha’s only hope lay in united defense of her liberties under the leadership of the one man whom all acknowledged king—­Leopold.  Very well, Barney Custer, of Beatrice, would be Leopold for a few days, since the real Leopold had proven himself incompetent to meet the emergency.

General Petko, the Serbian minister to Lutha, brought to the audience the memory of a series of unpleasant encounters with the king.  Leopold had never exerted himself to hide his pro-Austrian sentiments.  Austria was a powerful country—­Serbia, a relatively weak neighbor.  Leopold, being a royal snob, had courted the favor of the emperor and turned up his nose at Serbia.  The general was prepared for a repetition of the veiled affronts that Leopold delighted in according him; but this time he brought with him a reply that for two years he had been living in the hope of some day being able to deliver to the young monarch he so cordially despised.

It was an ultimatum from his government—­an ultimatum couched in terms from which all diplomatic suavity had been stripped.  If Barney Custer, of Beatrice, could have read it he would have smiled, for in plain American it might have been described as announcing to Leopold precisely “where he got off.”  But Barney did not have the opportunity to read it, since that ultimatum was never delivered.

Barney took the wind all out of it by his first words.  “Your excellency may wonder why it is that we have summoned you at such an early hour,” he said.

General Petko inclined his head in deferential acknowledgment of the truth of the inference.

“It is because we have learned from our chancellor,” continued the American, “that Serbia has mobilized an entire army corps upon the Luthanian frontier.  Am I correctly informed?”