The way to Philibert Place was not long. When they turned into the roaring, untidy road, where the busses and drays and carts struggled past each other with their loads, and the tired-faced people hurried in crowds along the pavement, they looked at them all feeling that they had left their dream far behind indeed.
But they were at home.
It was a good thing to see Lazarus open the door and stand waiting before they had time to get out of the cab. Cabs stopped so seldom before houses in Philibert Place that the inmates were always prompt to open their doors. When Lazarus had seen this one stop at the broken iron gate, he had known whom it brought.
He had kept an eye on the windows faithfully for many a day--even when he knew that it was too soon, even if all was well, for any travelers to return.
He bore himself with an air more than usually military and his salute when Marco crossed the threshold was formal stateliness itself. But his greeting burst from his heart.
“God be thanked!'' he said in his deep growl of joy. “God be thanked!''
When Marco put forth his hand, he bent his grizzled head and kissed it devoutly.
“God be thanked!'' he said again.
“My father?'' Marco began, “my father is out?'' If he had been in the house, he knew he would not have stayed in the back sitting-room.
“Sir,'' said Lazarus, “will you come with me into his room?
You, too, sir,'' to The Rat. He had never said “sir'' to him before.
He opened the door of the familiar room, and the boys entered.
The room was empty.
Marco did not speak; neither did The Rat. They both stood still in the middle of the shabby carpet and looked up at the old soldier. Both had suddenly the same feeling that the earth had dropped from beneath their feet. Lazarus saw it and spoke fast and with tremor. He was almost as agitated as they were.
“He left me at your service--at your command''--he began.
“Left you?'' said Marco.
“He left us, all three, under orders--to WAIT,'' said Lazarus.
“The Master has gone.''
The Rat felt something hot rush into his eyes. He brushed it away that he might look at Marco's face. The shock had changed it very much. Its glowing eager joy had died out, it had turned paler and his brows were drawn together. For a few seconds he did not speak at all, and, when he did speak, The Rat knew that his voice was steady only because he willed that it should be so.
“If he has gone,'' he said, “it is because he had a strong reason. It was because he also was under orders.''
“He said that you would know that,'' Lazarus answered. “He was called in such haste that he had not a moment in which to do more than write a few words. He left them for you on his desk there.''
Marco walked over to the desk and opened the envelope which was lying there. There were only a few lines on the sheet of paper inside and they had evidently been written in the greatest haste.
They were these:
“The Life of my life--for Samavia.''
“He was called--to Samavia,'' Marco said, and the thought sent his blood rushing through his veins. “He has gone to Samavia!''
Lazarus drew his hand roughly across his eyes and his voice shook and sounded hoarse.
“There has been great disaffection in the camps of the Maranovitch,'' he said. “The remnant of the army has gone mad.
Sir, silence is still the order, but who knows--who knows? God alone.''
He had not finished speaking before he turned his head as if listening to sounds in the road. They were the kind of sounds which had broken up The Squad, and sent it rushing down the passage into the street to seize on a newspaper. There was to be heard a commotion of newsboys shouting riotously some startling piece of news which had called out an “Extra.''
The Rat heard it first and dashed to the front door. As he opened it a newsboy running by shouted at the topmost power of his lungs the news he had to sell: “Assassination of King Michael Maranovitch by his own soldiers! Assassination of the Maranovitch! Extra! Extra! Extra!''
When The Rat returned with a newspaper, Lazarus interposed between him and Marco with great and respectful ceremony.
“Sir,'' he said to Marco, “I am at your command, but the Master left me with an order which I was to repeat to you. He requested you NOT to read the newspapers until he himself could see you again.''
Both boys fell back.
“Not read the papers!'' they exclaimed together.
Lazarus had never before been quite so reverential and ceremonious.
“Your pardon, sir,'' he said. “I may read them at your orders, and report such things as it is well that you should know. There have been dark tales told and there may be darker ones. He asked that you would not read for yourself. If you meet again--when you meet again''--he corrected himself hastily--“when you meet again, he says you will understand. I am your servant. I will read and answer all such questions as I can.''
The Rat handed him the paper and they returned to the back room together.
“You shall tell us what he would wish us to hear,'' Marco said.
