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Updated: June 13, 2025
The pause belonged to them their moment of reprieve. At last she said quietly: "But you are stupid not to guess it." "Guess what?" he inquired. "There is no Pagratide. Pagratide's real name is Karyl of Galavia." If the living-room at "Idle Times" bore the impress of Van Bristow's individuality and taste, his den was the tangible setting of his personality.
Von Ritz coolly inclined his head, indicating the heaped-up luggage on the table between them. Otherwise he did not move. "The stick there, on the table, is a sword-cane," he commented. Pagratide stood unmoving. The other waited a moment, almost deferentially, then went on with calm deliberation. "You left your regiment without leave, captain.
Rely on your meeting her with yacht. She will explain. Be ready to sail immediately on arrival. Address reply Pagratide, care Grand Palace Hotel." Benton smiled almost happily as he scrawled, in reply, "Isis and self at Miss Carstow's service. Waiting under steam. Benton." The following day was Tuesday.
To its doors your steps are guided by a trail of shop signs in English, French, German and Greek, among which appear only occasional characters in the native Arabic. Almost immediately after Cara, Pagratide and Benton had seated themselves in the dining-room that evening, Arab servants secluded a corner table, close to their own, behind mushrabieh screens.
The American bowed. He wished to observe every proper amenity of Court etiquette. He was still chagrined by the memory of his rudeness to Von Ritz, yet he was determined that if Karyl had sent for him as the Count Pagratide, he must receive him on equal terms and without ceremony. "Certainly," he replied. Then with a short laugh he added: "I have never before been received by a crowned head.
His Majesty, supposing that you would desire a quiet reception, instructed me to take you to the gardens of his private suite where he will shortly join you; unless," added Von Ritz courteously, "you prefer the Throne-room and dancing salles?" Benton's reply was prompt. "I believe I am to see the Count Pagratide," he answered. "I am grateful to the Count for arranging that I might be secluded."
"Pagratide," he asked, "why did you send for me?" The King stood rigid with the illuminating shaft from the door touching into high-lights the polish of his boots and the burnish of his accouterments. Finally he turned and in a voice now deadly quiet countered with another question. "Benton, why did you save me?" The American answered with quiet candor.
"If there is no throne, I must eliminate myself.... But for the time being I have given Von Ritz my parole.... The game is not yet quite played out.... He and Cara agree that I must play it to the end. After that there will be time to remedy mistakes." He paused. "Pagratide," said the American slowly, "you are talking wildly.
With recognition, Benton started up, then his jaw dropped and, doubting his own sanity, he fell back into his chair and sat gazing with blank eyes. At Von Ritz's elbow stood Pagratide. Slowly Benton came to his feet, his ears ringing.
I told you I would free her and fight for her, but I saw her eyes to-night.... Benton, it is I who am the interloper!" No answer came to Benton's tongue. Pagratide did not seem to expect one. After a moment he went on, with the manner of one who had thought out what he was to say, and who compels himself to go through with the prepared recital.
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