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It would be easy sailing in spite of all, he decided; for somewhere up above them in the hotel sat the unbidden guest, the woman against whom Father Paul had raised the ban of expulsion, but who had, nevertheless, tricked both him and the faithful Jackal. The breakfast was drawing to an end and the faithful Niccolas was the only servant remaining in the room.
Niccolas, the King's majordomo, stood between the doors, a black silhouette against the glare of many candles. "His Majesty is served!" he said.
They were answerable with their heads for the life and safety of the Sultan's guest, and as they could speak no language but their own, they made a visit to his Majesty more a matter of adventure than of etiquette. Niccolas, the King's majordomo, stepped out upon the terrace and swept the Mediterranean with a field-glass for the third time since sunrise.
How did he get in?" Kalonay turned on Barrat, sitting at his right. "Did you see him?" he asked. Barrat nodded gloomily. "The devil!" exclaimed the Prince, as though Barrat had confirmed his guess. "I beg your pardon," he said, nodding his head toward the women. He pushed back his chair and stood irresolutely with his napkin in his hand. "Tell him we are not in, Niccolas," he commanded.
"Well," said Colonel Erhaupt, briskly, as he followed Niccolas out upon the terrace, "has the boat arrived? And the launch from the yacht," he continued, "has it started for shore yet?" The man pointed to where the yacht lay, a mile outside the harbor, and handed him the glass. "It is but just now leaving the ship's side," he said. "But I cannot make out who comes in her.
She nodded her head toward the soldiers who sat at the entrance to the terrace, as silent and immovable as blind beggars before a mosque. "Do they understand?" she asked. "No," the King assured her. "They understand nothing, but that they are to keep people away from me and they do it very well. I wish I could import them to Paris to help Niccolas fight off creditors.
It had interested him to watch Baron Barrat bring out the ancient crown and jewelled sceptre which had been the regalia of all the Kings of Messina since the Crusades and spread them out upon a wicker tea-table, from which Niccolas had just removed some empty coffee-cups, half filled with the ends of cigarettes, some yellow-backed novels, and a copy of the Paris Figaro.
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