it?"
For answer she looked up at him suddenly, a gleam of anxiety in her deep hazel eyes, for she feared to have the man she loved out of her sight for a moment, lest the Fates be tempted once more to snatch her happiness from her.
Presently the unmistakable hum of a swiftly driven motor fell only too plainly on their ears strained to catch the familiar sound, and Dollops sat holding his beloved telescope almost like a gun, as though he fain would repel the invader by main force.
Nearer and nearer drew the panting car, until they were able to distinguish its occupants.
A reassuring glance told Dollops that it was not the much-dreaded limousine of the Yard. Assured of this fact, he gave vent to a little sigh of ineffable relief, and snuggling down into the long, dry grass, returned to his labour of love.
But the car stopped short in the lane that led down to the private landing stage, and from it leaped a gentleman, tall and upright, with the mien and bearing of a soldier, and clad in the conventional afternoon dress of the well-born Englishman.
Cleek twitched his head round as the wicket gate groaned on its rusty hinges, and catching sight of the intruder, he jumped hastily to his feet.
"Count Irma!" he ejaculated in the sharp staccato of excitement. "This is an unexpected pleasure. I thought you had returned to — that is — left England. " He stretched out a swift hand of welcome, and gave vent to a little sharp sigh.
The Count took that hand, bent over it, then drawing himself up, said sombrely: "No, Sire! I come to make a last appeal to your conscience and your manhood. Maurevania calls to you, Sire; must she call in vain?"
The smile had vanished from Cleek's lips at the sound of the first words, and simultaneously he linked his arm within that of Ailsa Lorne, who had also risen from her low chair, and now stood by his side, as if to ward off a hidden danger.
"I spoke my last word on that subject, Count, months ago," he responded smoothly yet with a latent sternness that brooked no questioning beneath. "Do not let us quarrel, my friend. Maurevania must do without me, as she has done, contented, all these long years."
"She has not! She has suffered, and suffered in silence!" retorted the Count with a sudden tinge of passion in his low voice. "Sire, I risk your displeasure. Kings are but slaves in another form; slaves to their duty, slaves to God himself, and I beseech you, do not fail us now in our hour of need. Maurevania looks to you for salvation from the yoke of the foreigner. Will you fail her?" The words came imploringly, in a swift rush of appeal, but Cleek raised a silencing hand.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, Count, if it means the loss of this dear woman by my side, who has rescued my very soul, drawn me up from the depths of hell itself. That resolution you cannot shake. A kingdom without this lady as rightful, recognized Queen, is out of the question. But a few short days now, and she will become my wife, beyond all thrones, beyond all earthly kingdoms save that which lies within the shelter of her own home. And there she will be queen indeed! I have no other answer to give you."
His hand fell, he drew back his head with something akin to kingliness in the gesture.
For a moment Count Irma looked at him, reproachfully, sadly, then with a suddenly acquired defiance, and bent his head. He knew the sentence had been passed.
"So be it," he said simply, in a bitter voice. "For the sake of a passing passion you have given over a nation to the horrors of civil war. Ruin, moral and financial, stares Maurevania in the face, and I must return to say that its rightful deliverer cares for naught but the love of a foreign woman!"
Then he turned upon Ailsa furiously, his face white with a passion of hatred that seared it as a branding-iron sears the horses' skin, leaving its ineffaceable mark.
"Mark my words, both of you, on my sword I will swear it — the sword with which I would have fought to the last drop of my blood for you — henceforth I will devote my life to the vengeance of that ill-fated people. You shall never marry this woman who has so blinded your eyes, and if your conscience will not aid you, then perhaps Maurevania herself shall speak to you."
He swung round suddenly, giving out a low, peculiar whistle. At its sound, from the body of the waiting car there leapt some half a dozen men, whose presence there had been hitherto unknown and undiscovered — Maurevanians, every man Jack of them, by the swarthy skin and deep-set eyes — who, at a signal from the Count, threw themselves on Cleek, and before Ailsa could utter so much as a sound or make so much as a single movement from the restraining hands of one, Cleek was bound hand and foot and bundled into the car.
So sudden had been the attack that apparently not even Dollops had realized the danger that his beloved master had encountered, for he had not made his presence known until Cleek's helpless body was lying prostrate in the car. Then he approached the Count, and pulling his forelock, said humbly:
"Beg your pardon, sir — Yer 'Ighness I means — but I could 'elp yer along of that party there if yer paid me for it."
"Dollops!" The cry came like a moan from the lips of Ailsa as she stood helpless in the grasp of a huge soldier.
"Money is money, miss," responded the youth sullenly, "an' as I 'appen to know which road Mr. Narkom an' 'is men are likely to be taking"
The Count wheeled round on him.
"The police!" he cried. "Ah! yes, good lad! How much? Tell me the road and you shall be well rewarded."
"A couple of quid 'll do me," was the surprising answer.
Then, almost before the words were out of his mouth, the coins were pressed into the grimy hand outstretched to grab them, and swinging round so as to avoid the scorn on Ailsa Lorne's face, the lad gazed thoughtfully up the distant road.
"Mr. Narkom (the old blighter) 'e's supposed to be in London, but between you an' me, sir, Yer 'Ighness, beggin' yer pardon, 'e's at Oxford, on a special job, and we expects him every hour. Starting now, as yer might say. I could take yer some short cuts, and you'd show a clean pair of 'ells."
Count Irma nodded sharply and motioned him to a front seat in the big car, well satisfied with the deal. Then he turned to Ailsa, who stood sobbing some distance away, her face covered with her two hands, and the whole heart of her tortured and broken.
"Mademoiselle," he said suavely, "the move is mine. His life depends entirely upon his consent. Escape is impossible, and were it otherwise, your own life would pay the penalty. I do not war on women if I can avoid it. So, mademoiselle, I bid you adieu."
With a gallant bow he swung upon his heel, replaced his hat, strode quickly over to the waiting motor, and stepped into it. Then, in the semi-silence of that perfect afternoon, the car slid out noiselessly into the road leading toward London and the things that lay ahead, leaving behind it a weeping woman, and a desolation that was as deep as it was absolute.
II Mr. Maverick Narkom sat in his private office at Scotland Yard, intent on reading the reports of the afternoon, with a cigar stuck between the fingers of his left hand and the open window sending a little breeze fluttering across the untidy desk. He looked up suddenly, as the sound of hurried footsteps without struck in upon the lazy silence of the afternoon, and wheeled round in his seat.
But if he had expected to see Lennard, or any of the staff of Scotland Yard, he was doomed to disappointment. The door opened and closed gustily, there came a swirl of woman's skirts, and the astonished eyes of the Superintendent fell on the last person he expected to see. It was
