He, as well as I, was a "play-actor", and, hating one another, we combined to dupe public opinion.

Unfortunately, however, the necessity for concealment involved the necessity of delay: the King might die in his prison, or even be spirited off somewhere else; it could not be helped.

For a little while I was compelled to observe a truce, and my only consolation was that Flavia most warmly approved of my edict against duelling, and, when I expressed delight at having won her favour, prayed me, if her favour were any motive to me, to prohibit the practice altogether.
"Wait till we are married," said I, smiling.
Not the least peculiar result of the truce and of the secrecy which dictated it was that the town of Zenda became in the day-time--I would not have trusted far to its protection by night--a sort of neutral zone, where both parties could safely go; and I, riding down one day with Flavia and Sapt, had an encounter with an acquaintance, which presented a ludicrous side, but was at the same time embarrassing.

As I rode along, I met a dignified looking person driving in a two-horsed carriage.

He stopped his horses, got out, and approached me, bowing low.
I recognized the Head of the Strelsau Police.
"Your Majesty's ordinance as to duelling is receiving our best attention," he assured me.
If the best attention involved his presence in Zenda, I determined at once to dispense with it.
"Is that what brings you to Zenda, Prefect ?" I asked.
"Why no, sire; I am here because I desired to oblige the British Ambassador." "What's the British Ambassador doing _dans cette galere_ ?" said I, carelessly.
"A young countryman of his, sire--a man of some position--is missing.
His friends have not heard from him for two months, and there is reason to believe that he was last seen in Zenda." Flavia was paying little attention.