“Death to the monarchy,” corrected the long man coldly. “And,” he added with a wealth of meaning in his voice, “to all who meddle in the affairs of our beloved country and seek to do it harm.”      

       “I don't know what you mean,” said Roland.     

       “Yes, Senor Bleke, you do know what I mean. I mean that you will be well advised to abandon the schemes which you are hatching with the malcontents who would do my beloved land an injury.”      

       The conversation was growing awkward. Roland had got so into the habit of taking it for granted that every Paranoyan he met must of necessity be a devotee of the beloved Alejandro that it came as a shock to him to realize that there were those who objected to his restoration to the throne. Till now he had looked on the enemy as something in the abstract. It had not struck him that the people for whose correction he was buying all these rifles and machine-guns were individuals with a lively distaste for having their blood shed.     

       “Senor Bleke,” resumed the speaker, frowning at one of his companions whose hand was hovering above the bottle of liqueur brandy, “you are a man of sense. You know what is safe and what is not safe. Believe me, this scheme of yours is not safe. You have been led away, but there is still time to withdraw. Do so, and all is well. Do not so, and your blood be upon your own head.”      

       “My blood!” gasped Roland.     

       The speaker bowed.     

       “That is all,” he said. “We merely came to give the warning. Ah, Senor Bleke, do not be rash. You think that here, in this great London of yours, you are safe. You look at the policeman upon the corner of the road, and you say to yourself 'I am safe.' Believe me, not at all so is it, but much the opposite. We have ways by which it is of no account the policeman on the corner of the road. That is all, Senor Bleke. We wish you a good night.”      

       The deputation withdrew.     

       Maraquita, informed of the incident, snapped her fingers, and said “Poof!”        It sometimes struck Roland that she would be more real help in a difficult situation if she could get out of the habit of saying “Poof!”      

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