For a moment, no one spoke, then Blake gave vent to a low whistle.

"Well," he said, dazedly; "so the cat's out of the bag! What's to be done?"

"There's only one thing that can be done," Collins said sharply. "I've already pointed out what that is," and he sat down at the table and wrote a rapid message. "How will this do? 'Lord Vernon will be pleased to see the Prince of Markeld at five o'clock this afternoon. He has no recollection of having recently performed any prompt or chivalrous action. The Prince has doubtless been misinformed.' That gives us half an hour--neither too much time, nor too little."

"But that's folly!" protested Blake; "how can you carry it through?"

"Leave that to me. I've got out of tighter places than this one. And,"

he added, turning to Vernon, "if you ever looked ill in your life, prepare to do it now."

Vernon was looking dreamily over Markeld's note.

"He uses adjectives well, doesn't he?" he asked. "'Such a course would be neither ingenuous nor fair.' 'Pon my word, I quite agree with him!"

"Remember, you're under orders," said Collins, sternly.

"Under reasonable orders, perhaps," admitted Vernon, quietly, with a little tightening of the muscles of the face. "I don't admit that either you or Blake is infallible. What is it you propose to do?"

"We propose, in the first place, to send Markeld this note."

Vernon took it and read it at a glance.

"A note which is, of course, a lie," he observed, dispa.s.sionately, as he handed it back.

"It is not a lie!" retorted Collins, flushing hotly. "It is, on the contrary, the absolute truth."

"There are many ways of lying," remarked Vernon, still more coolly. "It isn't so much the letter as the spirit which const.i.tutes a lie."

"This is scarcely the time," put in Blake, "for a lecture upon ethics."

"And it would, in any event," added Vernon, "be entirely wasted upon the present audience. Well, what next?"

"I think you understand your part," answered Collins, curtly. "The only question is, are you prepared to play it?"

Vernon hesitated for an instant, his hands trembling slightly.

"I feel the veriest scoundrel," he said, bitterly. "It sickens me--but you've got me fast."

"Yes," agreed Collins, with a malicious grin, "we've got you fast."

"Though not quite as fast as you think, perhaps," added Vernon, quietly. "I warn you that I will break the bonds if they become too galling. I see that I'm going to owe Prince Frederick a hearty apology before this thing is over."

"Oh, I shan't interfere with your apology when the time conies,"

retorted Collins.

"I should hope not," said Vernon, still more quietly; then he turned and entered the inner room.

"You mustn't push him too hard, Arthur," said Blake, in a low tone, "or he'll kick over the traces. Remember, he is devilish high-spirited. And he won't lie."

"It takes a firm hand to keep him under control; but I'll be careful.

And he won't have to lie. It's confoundedly unfortunate Markeld couldn't have left his dog at home! Just see how small a thing may affect the fate of nations!"

"Don't get philosophical," advised Blake. "There isn't time. Are you going to send that note?"

Collins sealed the missive.

"It's our only chance," he said, decidedly. "Don't you see; we've got to brazen this thing through. We're in a corner, and there's only one way out." He went to the door and opened it. "For the Prince of Markeld," he said, as he handed the note to the man who stood outside.

CHAPTER VII

An Appeal for Aid

One can easily guess with what delicious precipitation the Misses Rushford, having read the note sent to them by Lord Vernon and having recovered somewhat from the paralysis of amazement into which it had thrown them, hurried up the stair and sought the privacy of their own apartment. Here, evidently, was a full-fledged mystery enacting under their very noses, no trumpery neighbourhood mystery, either, but one of national--aye, even international--importance! It made them gasp to think of it; they were even a little frightened. By the touch of a finger the stage-door had been opened; they had been admitted behind the scenes--to the inside, as they had longed to be. And the experience was even more interesting and exciting than they had dared to hope! They were playing a part, however humble, in the great drama of European politics!

"But what can it mean?" Nell demanded, as she read the note for perhaps the twentieth time. "What can it possibly mean? Why should Lord Vernon wish to appear ill when he isn't?"

"I don't suppose he's doing it for fun," observed Susie, sagely.

"No, of course not," agreed Nell. "There isn't any fun in it that I can see. But it seems a very remarkable course of action. Some great affair of state must depend upon it," she added in a tone slightly awe-struck, for her imagination was beginning to be affected. "He seems awfully young to hold such an important place," she added.

"These English statesmen always look younger than they are," said Sue.

"From his pictures, I always imagined that Chamberlain was a comparatively young man, and here I read somewhere the other day that he's nearly seventy!"

"At any rate," concluded Nell, "since it was for our sake Lord Vernon threw off the mask, so to speak, it is only fair, on our part, to keep quiet about it. Why do you think he ran away so quickly? It was almost rude."

"I thought it quite entirely rude," a.s.serted Sue. "But maybe he saw somebody coming whom he wished to avoid."

And then both gasped simultaneously:

"The owner of the dog!"

"Of course!"

"How dense we were!"

"But who is the owner of the dog? Not an Englishman!"

"No--a German, I should say."

"Yes--did you notice his accent? And then he is tall and blond."

"Distinguished looking; and with an air about him--an autocratic manner--which makes me think he's a Somebody. He's evidently not used to being snubbed."

"It's perfectly maddening!" exclaimed Nell, with brows most becomingly wrinkled. "If we only knew something of English politics, we might be able to guess what it is all about."