"Well," said Mark, "I have an excellent witness for the defense, in one James Saunders, detective."

"You have," answered Saunders, "but not at the inquest; for if James Saunders, detective, shows his hand then, he will not live to testify at the trial, where his testimony, sprung as a surprise, might be useful."

"You mean that they would--"

"Just so," Saunders nodded wisely; "that's just what they would do. On the other hand, that fellow may stick to the story, whatever it is, that they had fixed up for him. It looks reasonable to me that he would be instructed to do that. He may come forward when the body is found, and give himself up, saying that he was out shooting c.o.o.ns, or some other animals that you can best get at night, and that one of his bullets must have killed the man. That looks like the easiest way out of it."

"That sounds all right, Saunders," answered Mark, "but I incline to the other theory. I think they'll accuse me. Their first plan would have been best if n.o.body had seen the deed. But since they know someone did see it, they'll probably try to be on the safe side. Fortunately, they don't know there were two of us, which leaves me better off."

"If they find there was another," said the detective, "you'll be safer in jail. Lives count nothing in the games of princes, and they'll get us both if they can."

"Then you're in danger yourself, Saunders."

"Not yet. As you remarked, they don't know there was another. You see, it was dark among the trees, and I caught the fellow in the rear as he ran away. He would naturally think that the man who caught him was the one who jumped as he fired."

Mark smoked thoughtfully before he spoke.

"You're right, Saunders. My complacency is not so great that I do not recognize the danger. I merely am indifferent to danger under the present circ.u.mstances. It's no use running away from it, and we can't help it now. Let's go to bed."

"Well, those English-Irish nerves get me," Saunders answered, as he arose and walked toward the door. "I suppose they're a good thing to have; but, Griffin, take it from me, you're the worst lump of ice I ever saw. Aren't you even just a little afraid?"

"Oh, yes," answered Mark, "I'm afraid all right, old man; I really am afraid. But there is somebody I am more afraid for than myself. I am worried about the lady."

Mark thought of what he had seen as he lay near the tree. Walking over to the window, he thoughtfully pulled down the blind before he turned again to Saunders. "I shall always love her, no matter what happens.

Of course, I can't marry a grand d.u.c.h.ess, especially one who is watched day and night; but I rather welcome the chance to stay near and protect her good name if the story does come out. That is why I won't go to jail for safety, not if I can prevent it."

Saunders closed the half-opened door and walked back into the room.

"Protect her? I don't understand," he said. Clearly bewildered, he sat down, carelessly swinging one leg over an arm of the big chair, and stared at his host.

Mark looked up. He spoke haughtily, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

"There is a British Amba.s.sador in Washington. You have a free country, so I can always talk to him, even if I am a prisoner or on bail. I happen to be brother to a baron; that fact may prove useful, for the first time in my life. One word that involves her name in scandal, even as Ruth Atheson, brings the story out. And Great Britain does not particularly care about your certain Big Kingdom. I am presuming, of course, that I have rightly guessed what Big Kingdom is looking after the interests of your Grand Duchy."

"You're right, Griffin; the Ministry could never let her name be mentioned."

"As the grand d.u.c.h.ess, no. But they could mention the name of Ruth Atheson, the Padre's friend, the Lady Bountiful of his poor, the girl I love. The Padre has had trouble enough, too, without that scandal in his little flock."

"I don't see how you can avoid it."

"Oh, I can avoid it very simply. I can send word to the Ministry in question that I know who the lady really is, and that I am almost ready to talk for the public."

"That's right, Griffin, you could. Gee, what a detective you would have made! You're sure right." He arose, stretched lazily, and walked to the door, where he turned, his hand on the k.n.o.b. "If it's any consolation for you to know, Griffin, they won't arrest--they'll just stick a knife into you. Good night, and pleasant dreams."

"Good night, Saunders, and thanks for your cheerful a.s.surances."

But Mark had no dreams at all for, left alone, he smoked and worried over his problem until morning.

Very early he wrote a long letter, sealed it and put it in his pocket so that he could register it in person. It was addressed to the British Amba.s.sador.

As Mark pa.s.sed on his way to the dining room, the hotel clerk gave him a note, remarking: "That's a bad-looking hand you have, Mr. Griffin."

"Yes, rather." Mark looked at his hand as though noticing its condition for the first time. Then he spoke consolingly. "But it was the only one I had to put on this morning. Pleasant outside, isn't it?"

But the clerk had suddenly discovered that his attention was needed elsewhere, and Mark proceeded to his breakfast.

Sitting down, he gave his order, then opened the letter. It was from Ruth. "I am sorry you were not feeling well yesterday, and hope you are all right now. If so, come to Killimaga to-day, quite early.

Somehow I am always lonesome now. Ruth."

It was rather strange--or was it?--that, in spite of what Mark knew, he watched his chance and, when the waiter turned his back, kissed the sheet of scented paper.

Saunders was in the hotel office when Mark came out of the dining room.

The constable was with him. With little difficulty Saunders got rid of the officer and walked over to Mark.

"Come outside," he said. "I have some news."

They left the hotel and moved down the street. When out of anyone's hearing, Saunders touched Mark's arm.

"I routed out the constable early this morning--at daybreak, in fact--and sent him on a wild-goose chase along the bluff road. I wanted him to stumble onto that body, and get things going quickly.

The sooner the cards are on the table, the better. His errand would keep him close to the Killamaga wall, on the roadside. He saw nothing; if he had I should have known it. What do you think it means?"

"Means?" echoed Mark. "Why, it means that someone else has been there."

"It looks that way," admitted Saunders. "But why hasn't it been reported?"

"I think, Saunders," Mark said thoughtfully, "that we had better take a walk near the wall ourselves."

"I was going to suggest that very thing."

The morning was not beautiful. The chill wind of autumn had come up, and the pleasant weather that Mark had taken the trouble to praise was vanishing. The clouds were dark and gloomy, threatening a storm. When the men reached the bluff road, they saw that the ocean was disturbed, and that great white-capped waves were beating upon the beach below.

Their own thoughts kept both of them in tune with the elements.

Neither spoke a word as they rapidly covered the distance between the town and the spot of the tragedy. But instinctively, as if caught by the same aversion, both slackened pace as they neared the wall of Killimaga. Going slowly now they turned out of the road and approached the tree, looking fearfully down at the gra.s.s. They reached the spot whereon they had left the body the evening before. There was no body there.

They searched the bushes and the long gra.s.s, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Closely they examined the ground; but not a trace of blood was to be seen, nor any evidence of conflict.

Saunders was stupefied, and Mark showed signs of growing wonder.

"It isn't here," half whispered Saunders. "And it isn't in the bushes.

What do you make of it, Griffin?"

Mark answered hesitatingly and half-nervously.

"I can't make anything out of it, unless they have decided to hush the whole thing up, figuring that the men who interfered will never tell.

They disposed of the body overnight and covered all their traces.

Unless I am mistaken, no one will ever find it or know that the murder took place at all."

"Then," said Saunders emphatically, "they certainly had one of the big fellows here to see that it was properly done."

"It looks probable," replied Mark; "for a common murderer would not have planned so well. An expert was on this crime. The body is disposed of finally."