"And in the meantime?"

"She is safe."

"And if we seek the Department of State?"

"It will be the word of the minister from a friendly power against yours--and they will not find the lady."

"You would not--"

"They will not find the lady."

"Then," Mark spoke fiercely. "You have not kept your word."

"We have. She is safe, and shall be safe. Patience, if you please, and all will be well."

"It looks," said Father Murray, "as though we had no other choice."

Mark glanced at the priest, astonished that he should acquiesce so easily, but Father Murray gave him a quick, meaning look.

"That, Reverend Sir," answered the secretary, "is true. Since you see it so, I will bid you good day--to meet you again, shortly."

Scarcely had the secretary left the room when Father Murray was at the telephone calling Saunders.

"Come down," he directed, "at once."

Saunders was with them before either Mark or the priest spoke again.

"Well?" Saunders lost no time.

Father Murray gave him an outline of what had pa.s.sed. Mark said nothing. A picture of despair, he was sitting with his head bowed upon his breast.

"And now, Mr. Saunders," said Father Murray, "it is your business to counsel--to be a real detective. What do you suggest?"

"She is at the Ministry," said Saunders. "Let that be my first statement. She is occupying a room which opens on a balcony of the second floor. There is a guard in the next room, which also opens on the same balcony. She is well watched. But I was in front of that house three hours last night, and again this morning--rather, I was in the house across the way. I had a good chance to communicate the news of your arrival to her--"

"What!" Mark was on his feet now.

"It was simple. I did it this morning with a hand mirror. You remember how bright the sun was about nine o'clock? Well, it was shining right into the room where I was, and when I saw that she was probably alone I caught the light on my little mirror and flashed the reflection into her room. I juggled it about as oddly as I could, flashing it across the book she was reading. Then I tried to make it write a word on her wall. Perhaps you would like to know the word, Baron?" He turned to Mark with a smile. "You would? Well, I tried to write 'M-A-R-K.' I think she understood, for she turned toward the window and seemed about to give me some signal. Then she raised her hand in a quick motion of alarm and began reading again. I withdrew the light, just in time, for some woman entered the room."

"I am afraid, Mr. Saunders," said Father Murray, "that you are dangerous, being a very clever man."

"But how, in Heaven's name," asked Mark, "did you get into that house?

It is the home of--"

"Sure it is," answered Saunders. "Sure it is. But the family is away, and they left only the chauffeur at the residence. Chauffeurs are fine fellows--under certain circ.u.mstances. They have acquired the habit."

"The conditions," laughed Mark, "will, I suppose, appear in your accounts?"

"In my accounts? Yes . . . . Now to the rest of the discussion. I do not believe this affair can be arranged as easily as you think. It looks to me as if they really believe they have the Grand d.u.c.h.ess, and that we are trying to help her get away. They think she has planned the whole thing and that we are part of the plan. Miss Ruth was with Madam Neuville when they caught her. That's one point in their favor.

Then the d.u.c.h.ess had things belonging to Miss Ruth, and had them when killed. That's point two for them. The face of Miss Ruth is the face on the portraits of the Grand d.u.c.h.ess. There's point three for them; and it is a fact that the face of the dead girl was slightly disfigured, as you know. The Minister dare not make a slip. He is not going to make one if he can help it. He will do something without delay to avoid all danger of your interference. If you go to court, you'll have publicity. If you go to the Department of State, their delays would make interference too late. If you don't act quick you'll have no chance to act at all. My advice is, to get into better communication with the young lady and then--to do a bit of quiet abduction ourselves."

"That's easy to say, Saunders," said Mark. "But how carry it out?"

"I'll have to think on that. But I'm sure it can be done." Saunders spoke convincingly. "Let me work this thing out as best I can."

"We are in your hands, Mr. Saunders," said Father Murray, "and we trust you."

"Thanks, Father, I'll do my best. Now let us go on--"

But at this moment the telephone bell rang. Father Murray answered the call.

"It's for you, Mark."

Mark took the receiver, and listened for a moment.

"All right; send him up."

He turned to his companions. "A colored man who insists on seeing me personally."

They had but a few minutes to wait. He came up with a bellboy and stood before them, bowing low--a typical Southern darkey, his hair whitened by age.

"Well, uncle, what can I do for you?" It was Mark who spoke.

"Well, sah, seein' as how I found a lettah addressed to you--"

"A letter?"

"Yes, sah." The old darkey was fumbling with his hat, trying to withdraw the letter he had put away so carefully.

"I found it down the street, sah, neah one of them thar big for'n houses."

"Where?" The word was almost shouted as Mark jumped to his feet.

But the trembling fingers had at last grasped and now held forth the precious letter. Mark tore it open, and with a cry of glad surprise began to devour its contents. When he had finished, he handed the letter to Father Murray without a word, and turned to the darkey.

"Thank you, uncle. I am very glad you brought it."

"Yes, sah. I thought as how you might want to get it, seein' as how it was a pretty young lady that threw it out."

"You saw her?"

"Yes, sah. I was right across the street, and she suah is pretty, sah." The old man smiled and bowed as Mark gave him a bill. "Thank you, sah; thank you, sah." And with a broad grin he left the room.

Father Murray was still reading the letter and Mark motioned to Saunders to come to his side. Looking over the priest's shoulder, Mark read the lines again:

"My Dear Mark: His Excellency isn't a very good housekeeper; I have found an envelope in one of the books, and a tiny slip of blue-corded pencil in the drawer of my dressing-table. I should like to pension the man who first put fly-leaves in a book. Fortunately, my maid isn't with me much, and the man in the yard can't see my front window because of the tree. So I have only to listen to the guard in the next room.

He is always walking up and down, and when he reaches the uncarpeted s.p.a.ce near the door I know he is at the end and ready to turn back.