“This was Doctor Semich’s office,” he told me. “I shall—” He broke off and looked away from me.
“You’ll be in Greece by tomorrow,” I said bluntly.
He frowned at his feet, a stubborn frown.
“You ought to know you can’t hold on,” I argued. “You may think everything is going smoothly. If you do, you’re deaf, dumb, and blind. I put you in with the muzzle of a gun against Einarson’s liver. I’ve kept you in this long by kidnapping him. I’ve made a deal with Djudakovich—the only strong man I’ve seen here. It’s up to him to handle Einarson. I can’t hold him any longer. Djudakovich will make a good dictator, and a good king later, if he wants it. He promises you four million dollars and a special train and safe-conduct to Saloniki. You go out with your head up. You’ve been a king. You’ve taken a country out of bad hands and put it into good—this fat guy is real. And you’ve made yourself a million profit.”
Grantham looked at me and said:
“No. You go. I shall see it through. These people have trusted me, and I shall—”
“My God, that’s old Doc Semich’s line! These people haven’t trusted you—not a bit of it. I’m the people who trusted you. I made you king, understand? I made you king so you could go home with your chin up—not so you could stay here and make an ass of yourself! I bought help with promises. One of them was that you’d get out within twenty-four hours. You’ve got to keep the promises I made in your name. The people trusted you, huh? You were crammed down their throats, my son! And I did the cramming! Now I’m going to uncram you. If it happens to be tough on your romance—if your Valeska won’t take any price less than this lousy country’s throne—that’s—”