“There’s no question of debt,” says he, deliberately. “Mr Arnold may be said to have made amends. He’s lucky to go off with his life.”

But at this Grundvig and the Prince cried out.

“At least we owe him civility,” says the Prince. “Mr Arnold, you have had my thanks; understand it is the thanks of Strackenz and Denmark also.”

“Aye, very fine,” sneers Sapten. “But with your highness’s leave, a clear passage to our frontier is the most, I think, that Mr Arnold will expect.” He was pretty angry, all right; I began to understand that if Carl Gustaf hadn’t survived it would have been waltzing matilda for Flashy if Sapten had had his way. I didn’t think it politic to mention his promise on behalf of little goldenheaded Amelia; the less said about her the better.

“At least he must be allowed to rest first,” says the Prince, “and then conveyed in safety to the border. We owe him that.”

“He can’t stay here,” croaked Sapten. “In God’s name, look at his face! We’ll have difficulty preventing a scandal as it is. If there are two men with the prince’s figurehead in the state, we’ll never keep it quiet.”

The prince bit his lip, and I saw it was time for a diplomatic intervention.

“If your highness pleases,” says I, “Major Sapten is right. Every moment I continue in Strackenz is dangerous, for both of us, but especially for you. I must go, and quickly. Believe me, it is for the best. And as the major has remarked, there is no debt.”

Wasn’t there, though! I kept my face smooth, but underneath I was beginning to smart with hurt and anger. I hadn’t asked to be embroiled in the politics of their tin-pot little duchy, but I had been bloody near killed more times than I could count, cut and wounded and half drowned, scared out of my wits—and all I was getting at the end of it was the sneers of Sapten and the handshake of his blasted highness. Ten minutes before I had been thankful to come out with a whole skin, but suddenly now I felt full of spite and anger towards them.

There was a bit of mumbling and grumbling, but it was all hypocrisy; indeed, I don’t doubt that if Carl Gustaf had been given an hour or two longer to recover from the scare he had had, and his consequent gratitude to me, he would have been ready to listen to a suggestion from Sapten that I should be slipped back down the pipe for a second time—with my hands tied this time. After all, his face was like mine, so his character might be, too.