"What! Examined his luggage at the hotel?"

"Yes, Monsieur. It is the order of the minister of police. I
know not why." The natural color was returning to his cheeks.

"This is a fine country, I must say. At least the king should
acquaint his visitors with the true cause of this treatment." In
his turn the Englishman resorted to oblique glances.

"The king?" The inspector raised a shoulder and spread his hands.
"The king is a paralytic, Monsieur, and has little to say these days."

"A paralytic? I thought he was called `the handsome monarch'?"

"That was years ago, Monsieur. For three years he has been
helpless and bedridden. The archbishop is the real king nowadays.
But he meddles not with the police."

"This is very sad. I suppose it would be impossible for
strangers to see him now."

"An audience?" a sparkle behind the spectacles. "Is your
business with the king, Monsieur?"

"My business is mine," shortly. "I am only a tourist, and should
have liked to see the king from mere curiosity. However, had you
explained all this to me, I should not have caused you so many
gray hairs."

"Monsieur did not give me the chance," simply.