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Updated: April 30, 2025
Drawing his sword, he securely fastened the thong on the hilt about his wrist that no matter how fierce the mêlée, he would not be disarmed. Delmotte imitated his example. Giving the blade a preparatory swing, the doughty Treasurer settled back in his saddle with a sigh of anticipation. Zulka and Sobieska rode back to Trusia. "Just for 'Auf wiedersehn," they said smilingly.
Recognition was complete. "It is you, at last, Sobieska," he said as the thin hand of the Krovitzer closed over his own. A smile lighted up the half-veiled eyes, he read in the American's soul that word of their distress had come too late. "Come into the club," Carter urged him. Sobieska smiled grimly as he glanced down at his shabby garments. Carter understood.
She leaned forward from her place at the table to speak to Count Sobieska. In doing so, her eyes met Carter's. They were filled with a gentle regard a more than friendliness. "With whom?" asked her Minister of Private Intelligence anxiously, for this city was the centre of international intrigue and espionage. "You remember General Vladimar, the former Russian commandant at Schallberg? It was he.
I am very punctilious about some things and exact promptitude as the greatest qualification in my subordinates. I should have had dispatches from London and Paris two days ago. I am out here now waiting for Max to arrive with them. It's a minor matter, but it has made me uneasy." "Information concerning Carrick?" Carter queried. "Yes," Sobieska replied.
"Should our party be attacked," suggested Sobieska, "it is imperative that Her Grace should be hurried right on to the frontier without awaiting the issue of the combat. Some one must accompany her. Will Your Highness choose?" he turned to her with a deep bow, a wistful light glowing in his cynical eyes. "If Major Carter will accompany me," she said almost timidly, "I will select him."
Look at all the woodpeckers on that little tree; that tree is like us peasants. The squire sits and hammers, the parish sits and hammers, the Jews and the Germans sit and hammer, yet in the end they all fly away and the tree is still the tree. The evening brought a visit from old Sobieska, who stumbled in with her demand of a 'thimbleful of whisky'.
A gloomy family memory hung about the place: it had been the asylum of Clementina Sobieska when she had fled from the elder Pretender as Louise d'Albany had fled from the younger.
The only remaining member of the Council present was Count Sobieska, Minister of Private Intelligence, who, from under half closed Oriental eyes, acknowledged the presentation with a dignified, but non-committal, inclination of the head. He seemed preoccupied in his own passivity, and was a man in the fullest triumph of life, the years that enrich at forty.
He reached out and caught Sobieska's hand and wrung it with the fervor he would fain have loosed in a cheer. "Thank God," he said vehemently. "Are we going to her, now?" Sobieska nodded an affirmative. "Is it far?" "Not over two miles." "And you intend to walk? Great Scott, man, do you think I have lead in my veins instead of blood?"
"What treason brought him here, then?" she asked haughtily, pointing indignantly at Stovik. The latter smiled deprecatingly, as Sobieska answered, "Part of a Russian plot, Highness, of which, so far as we can ascertain, this gentleman has been the innocent victim. It was by such a plan they sought to lure all the patriots within the boundaries of our land, then to draw their net about us.
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