yelped bitterly. Einarson pointed a long brown finger at him. Two soldiers left their places by the wall, took the Deputy roughly by neck and arms, and dragged him out. Another Deputy stood up, talked, and was removed. After the fifth drag-out everything was peaceful.
Einarson put a question and got a unanimous answer.
He turned to me, his gaze darting from my face to my raincoat and back, and said: “That is done.”
“We’ll have the coronation now,” I commanded. “Any kind of ceremony, so it’s short.”
I missed most of the ceremony. I was busy keeping my hold on the florid officer, but finally Lionel Grantham was officially installed as Lionel the First, King of Muravia. Einarson and I congratulated him, or whatever it was, together. Then I took the officer aside.
“We’re going to take a walk,” I said. “No foolishness. Take me out a side door.”
I had him now, almost without needing the gun. He would have to deal quietly with Grantham and me—kill us without any publicity—if he were to avoid being laughed at—this man who had let himself be stuck up and robbed of a throne in the middle of his army.
We went roundabout from the Administration Building to the Hotel of the Republic without meeting anyone who knew us. The population was all in the plaza. We found the hotel deserted. I made him run the elevator to my floor, and herded him down the corridor to my room.
I tried the door, found it unlocked, let go the knob, and told him to go in. He pushed the door open and stopped.
Romaine Frankl was sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed, sewing a button on one of my union suits.