The Yellow Crayon

CHAPTER XLI CHAPTER XLI At eight o’clock in the evening Lucille knocked at the door of Lady Carey’s suite of rooms at the hotel. There was no answer. A chambermaid who was near came smiling up. “Miladi has, I think, descended for dinner,” she said. Lucille looked at her watch. She saw that she was a few minutes late, so she descended to the restaurant. The small table which they had reserved was, however, still unoccupied. Lucille told the waiter that she would wait for a few moments, and sent for an English newspaper. Lady Carey did not appear. A quarter of an hour passed. The head waiter came up with a benign smile. “Madam will please to be served?” he suggested, with a bow. “I am waiting for my friend Lady Carey,” Lucille answered. “I understood that she had come down. Perhaps you will send and see if she is in the reading-room.” “With much pleasure, madam,” the man answered. In a few minutes he returned. “Madam’s friend was the Lady Carey?” he asked. Lucille nodded. The man was gently troubled. “But, Miladi Carey,” he said, “has left more than an hour ago.” Lucille looked up, astonished. “Left the hotel?” she exclaimed. “But yes, madam,” he exclaimed. “Miladi Carey left to catch the boat train at Calais for England.” “It is impossible,” Lucille answered. “We only arrived at midday.” “I will inquire again,” the man declared. “But it was in the office that they told me so.” “They told you quite correctly,” said a familiar voice. “I have come to take her place. Countess, I trust that in me you will recognise an efficient substitute.” It was the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer who was calmly seating himself opposite to her. The waiter, with the discretion of his class, withdrew for a few paces and stood awaiting orders. Lucille looked across at him in amazement. “You here?” she exclaimed, “and Muriel gone? What does this mean?” The Prince leaned forward. “It means,” he said, “that after you left I was in torment. I felt that you had no one with you who could be of assistance supposing the worst happened. Muriel is all very well, but she is a woman, and she has no diplomacy, no resource. I felt, Lucille, that I should not be happy unless I myself saw you into safety.” “So you followed us here,” Lucille remarked quietly. “Exactly! You do not blame me. It was for your sake—as well as my own.” “And Muriel—why has she left me without farewell—without warning of any sort?” The Prince smiled and stroked his fair moustache. “Well,” he said, “it is rather an awkward thing for me to explain, but to tell you the truth, Muriel was a little—more than a little—annoyed at my coming. She has no right to be, but—well, you know, she is what you call a monopolist. She and I have been friends for many years.” “I understand perfectly what you have wished to convey,” Lucille said. “But what I do not understand are the exact reasons which brought you here.” The Prince took up the carte de jour. “As we dine,” he said, “I will tell you. You will permit me to order?” Lucille rose to her feet. “For yourself, certainly,” she answered. “As for me, I have accepted no invitation to dine with you, nor do I propose to do so.” The Prince frowned. “Be reasonable, Lucille,” he pleaded. “I must talk with you. There are important plans to be made. I have a great deal to say to you. Sit down.” Lucille looked across at him with a curious smile upon her lips. “You have a good deal to say to me?” she remarked. “Yes, I will believe that. But of the truth how much, I wonder?” “By and bye,” he said, “you will judge me differently. For hors d’oeuvres what do you say to oeufs de pluvier? Then—” “Pardon me,” she interrupted, “I am not interested in your dinner!” “In our dinner,” he ventured gently. “I am not dining with you,” she declared firmly. “If you insist upon remaining here I shall have something served in my room. You know quite well that we are certain to be recognised. One would imagine that this was a deliberate attempt on your part to compromise me.” “Lucille,” he said, “do not be foolish! Why do you persist in treating me as though I were your persecutor?” “Because you are,” she said coolly. “It is ridiculous,” he declared. “You are in the most serious danger, and I have come only to save you. I can do it, and I will. But listen—not unless you change your demeanour towards me.” She laughed scornfully. She had risen to her feet now, and he was perforce compelled to follow her example. “Is that a challenge?” she asked. “You may take it as such if you will,” he answered, with a note of sullenness in his tone. “You know very well that I have but to lift my finger and the gendarmes will be here. Yes, we will call it a challenge. All my life I have wanted you. Now I think that my time has come. Even Souspennier has deserted you. You are alone, and let me tell you that danger is closer at your heels than you know of. I can save you, and I will. But I have a price, and it must be paid.” “If I refuse?” she asked. “I send for the chief of the police.” She looked him up and down, a measured, merciless survey. He was a tall, big man, but he seemed to shrink into insignificance. “You are a coward and a bully,” she said slowly. “You know quite well that I am innocent of any knowledge even concerning Duson’s death. But I would sooner meet my fate, whatever it might be, than suffer even the touch of your fingers upon my hand. Your presence is hateful to me. Send for your chief of the police. String your lies together as you will. I am satisfied.” She left him and swept from the room, a spot of colour burning in her cheeks, her eyes lit with fire. The pride of her race had asserted itself. She felt no longer any fear. She only desired to sever herself at once and completely from all association with this man. In the hall she sent for her maid. “Fetch my cloak and jewel case, Celeste,” she ordered. “I am going across to the Bristol. You can return for the other luggage.” “But, madam—” “Do as I say at once,” Lucille ordered. The girl hesitated and then obeyed. Lucille found herself suddenly addressed in a quiet tone by a man who had been sitting in an easy-chair, half hidden by a palm tree. “Will you favour me, madam, with a moment’s conversation?” Lucille turned round. She recognised at once the man with whom she had conversed upon the steamer. In the quietest form of evening dress, there was something noticeable in the man’s very insignificance. He seemed a little out of his element. Lucille had a sudden inspiration, The man was a detective. “What do you wish to say?” she asked, half doubtfully. “I overheard,” he remarked, “your order to your maid. She had something to say to you, but you gave her no opportunity.” “And you?” she asked, “what do you wish to say?” “I wish to advise you,” he said, “not to leave the hotel.” She looked at him doubtfully. “You cannot understand,” she said, “why I wish to leave it. I have no alternative.” “Nevertheless,” he said, “I hope that you will change your mind.” “Are you a detective?” she asked abruptly. “Madam is correct!” The flush of colour faded from her cheeks. “I presume, then,” she said, “that I am under your surveillance?” “In a sense,” he admitted, “it is true.” “On the steamer,” she remarked, “you spoke as though your interest in me was not inimical.” “Nor is it,” he answered promptly. “You are in a difficult position, but you may find things not so bad as you imagine. At present my advice to you is this: Go upstairs to your room and stay there.” The little man had a compelling manner. Lucille made her way towards the elevator. “As a matter of fact,” she murmured bitterly, “I am not, I suppose, permitted to leave the hotel?” “Madam puts the matter bluntly,” he answered; “but certainly if you should insist upon leaving, it would be my duty to follow you.” She turned away from him and entered the elevator. The door of her room was slightly ajar, and she saw that a waiter was busy at a small round table. She looked at him in surprise. He was arranging places for two. “Who gave you your orders?” she asked. “But it was monsieur,” the man answered, with a low bow. “Dinner for two.” “Monsieur?” she repeated. “What monsieur?” “I am the culprit,” a familiar voice answered from the depths of an easy-chair, whose back was to her. “I was very hungry, and it occurred to me that under the circumstances you would probably not have dined either. I hope that you will like what I have ordered. The plovers’ eggs look delicious.” She gave a little cry of joy. It was Mr. Sabin. CHAPTER XLII The Prince dined carefully, but with less than his usual appetite. Afterwards he lit a cigarette and strolled for a moment into the lounge. Celeste, who was waiting for him, glided at once to his side. “Monsieur!” she whispered. “I have been here for one hour.” He nodded. “Well?” “Monsieur le Duc has arrived.” The Prince turned sharply round. “Who?” “Monsieur le Duc de Souspennier. He calls himself no longer Mr. Sabin.” A dull flush of angry colour rose almost to his temples. “Why did you not tell me before?” he exclaimed. “Monsieur was in the restaurant,” she answered. “It was impossible for me to do anything but wait.” “Where is he?” “Alas! he is with madam,” the girl answered. The Prince was very profane. He started at once for the elevator. In a moment or two he presented himself at Lucille’s sitting-room. They were still lingering over their dinner. Mr. Sabin welcomed him with grave courtesy. “The Prince is in time to take his liqueur with us,” he remarked, rising. “Will you take fin champagne, Prince, or Chartreuse? I recommend the fin champagne.” The Prince bowed his thanks. He was white to the lips with the effort for self-mastery. “I congratulate you, Mr. Sabin,” he said, “upon your opportune arrival. You will be able to help Lucille through the annoyance to which I deeply regret that she should be subjected.” Mr. Sabin gently raised his eyebrows. “Annoyance!” he repeated. “I fear that I do not quite understand.” The Prince smiled. “Surely Lucille has told you,” he said, “of the perilous position in which she finds herself.” “My wife,” Mr. Sabin said, “has told me nothing. You alarm me.” The Prince shrugged his shoulders. “I deeply regret to tell you,” he said, “that the law has proved too powerful for me. I can no longer stand between her and what I fear may prove a most unpleasant episode. Lucille will be arrested within the hour.” “Upon what charge?” Mr. Sabin asked. “The murder of Duson.” Mr. Sabin laughed very softly, very gently, but with obvious genuineness. “You are joking, Prince,” he exclaimed. “I regret to say,” the Prince answered, “that you will find it very far from a joking matter.” Mr. Sabin was suddenly stern. “Prince of Saxe Leinitzer,” he said, “you are a coward and a bully.” The Prince started forward with clenched fist. Mr. Sabin had no weapon, but he did not flinch. “You can frighten women,” he said, “with a bogie such as this, but you have no longer a woman to deal with. You and I know that such a charge is absurd—but you little know the danger to which you expose yourself by trifling with this subject. Duson left a letter addressed to me in which he announced his reasons for committing suicide.” “Suicide?” “Yes. He preferred suicide to murder, even at the bidding of the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer. He wrote and explained these things to me—and the letter is in safe hands. The arrest of Lucille, my dear Prince, would mean the ruin of your amiable society.” “This letter,” the Prince said slowly, “why was it not produced at the inquest? Where is it now?” “It is deposited in a sealed packet with the Earl of Deringham,” Mr. Sabin answered. “As to producing it at the inquest—I thought it more discreet not to. I leave you to judge of my reasons. But I can assure you that your fears for my wife’s safety have been wholly misplaced. There is not the slightest reason for her to hurry off to America. We may take a little trip there presently, but not just yet.” The Prince made a mistake. He lost his temper. “You!” he cried, “you can go to America when you like, and stay there. Europe has had enough of you with your hare-brained schemes and foolish failures. But Lucille does not leave this country. We have need of her. I forbid her to leave. Do you hear? In the name of the Order I command her to remain here.” Mr. Sabin was quite calm, but his face was full of terrible things. “Prince,” he said, “if I by any chance numbered myself amongst your friends I would warn you that you yourself are a traitor to your Order. You prostitute a great cause when you stoop to use its machinery to assist your own private vengeance. I ask you for your own sake to consider your words. Lucille is mine—mine she will remain, even though you should descend to something more despicable, more cowardly than ordinary treason, to wrest her from me. You reproach me with the failures of my life. Great they may have been, but if you attempt this you will find that I am not yet an impotent person.” The Prince was white with rage. The sight of Lucille standing by Mr. Sabin’s side, her hand lightly resting upon his, her dark eyes full of inscrutable tenderness, maddened him. He was flouted and ignored. He was carried away by a storm of passion. He tore a sheet of paper from his pocket book, and unlocking a small gold case at the end of his watch chain, shook from it a pencil with yellow crayon. Mr. Sabin leaned over towards him. “You sign it at your peril, Prince,” he said. “It will mean worse things than that for you.” For a second he hesitated. Lucille also leaned towards him. “Prince,” she said, “have I not kept my vows faithfully? Think! I came from America at a moment’s notice; I left my husband without even a word of farewell; I entered upon a hateful task, and though to think of it now makes me loathe myself—I succeeded. I have kept my vows, I have done my duty. Be generous now, and let me go.” The sound of her voice maddened him. A passionate, arbitrary man, to whom nothing in life had been denied, to be baulked in this great desire of his latter days was intolerable. He made no answer to either of them. He wrote a few lines with the yellow crayon and passed them silently across to Lucille. Her face blanched. She stretched out an unwilling hand. But Mr. Sabin intervened. He took the paper from the Prince’s hand, and calmly tore it into fragments. There was a moment’s breathless silence. “Victor!” Lucille cried. “Oh, what have you done!” The Prince’s face lightened with an evil joy. “We now, I think,” he said, “understand one another. You will permit me to wish you a very pleasant evening, and a speedy leave-taking.” Mr. Sabin smiled. “Many thanks, my dear Prince,” he said lightly. “Make haste and complete your charming little arrangements. Let me beg of you to avoid bungling this time. Remember that there is not in the whole of Europe to-day a man more dangerous to you than I.” The Prince had departed. Mr. Sabin lit a cigarette and stood on the hearthrug. His eyes were bright with the joy of fighting. “Lucille,” he said, “I see that you have not touched your liqueur. Oblige me by drinking it. You will find it excellent.” She came over to him and hung upon his arm. He threw his cigarette away and kissed her upon the lips. “Victor,” she murmured, “I am afraid. You have been rash!” “Dearest,” he answered, “it is better to die fighting than to stand aside and watch evil things. But after all, there is no fear. Come! Your cloak and dressing case!” “You have plans?” she exclaimed, springing up. “Plans?” He laughed at her a little reproachfully. “My dear Lucille! A carriage awaits us outside, a special train with steam up at the Gard de L’ouest. This is precisely the contingency for which I have planned.” “Oh, you are wonderful, Victor,” she murmured as she drew on her coat. “But what corner of the earth is there where we should be safe?” “I am going,” Mr. Sabin said, “to try and make every corner of the earth safe.” She was bewildered, but he only laughed and held open the door for her. Mr. Sabin made no secret of his departure. He lingered for a moment in the doorway to light a cigarette, he even stopped to whisper a few words to the little man in plain dinner clothes who was lounging in the doorway. But when they had once left the hotel they drove fast. In less than half an hour Paris was behind them. They were traveling in a royal saloon and at a fabuulous cost, for in France they are not fond of special trains. But Mr. Sabin was very happy. At least he had escaped an ignominious defeat. It was left to him to play the great card. “And now,” Lucille said, coming out from her little bed-chamber which the femme de chambre was busy preparing, “suppose you tell me where we are going.” Mr. Sabin smiled. “Do not be alarmed,” he said, “even though it will sound to you the least likely place in the world. We are going to Berlin.” CHAPTER XLIII The great room was dimly enough lit, for the windows looking out upon the street were high and heavily curtained, The man who sat at the desk was almost in the shadow. Yet every now and then a shaft of sunlight fell across his pale, worn face. A strange combination this of the worker, the idealist, the man of affairs. From outside came the hum of a great city. At times, too, there came to his ears as he sat here the roar of nations at strife, the fierce underneath battle of the great countries of the world struggling for supremacy. And here at this cabinet this man sat often, and listened, strenuous, romantic, with the heart of a lion and the lofty imagination of an eagle, he steered unswervingly on to her destiny a great people. Others might rest, but never he. He looked up from the letter spread out before him. Lucille was seated at his command, a few yards away. Mr. Sabin stood respectfully before him. “Monsieur le Duc,” he said, “this letter, penned by my illustrious father to you, is sufficient to secure my good offices. In what manner can I serve you?” “Your Majesty,” Mr. Sabin answered, “in the first place by receiving me here. In the second by allowing me to lay before you certain grave and very serious charges against the Order of the Yellow Crayon, of which your Majesty is the titular head.” “The Order of the Yellow Crayon,” the Emperor said thoughtfully, “is society composed of aristocrats pledged to resist the march of socialism. It is true that I am the titular head of this organisation. What have you to say about it?” “Only that your Majesty has been wholly deceived,” Mr. Sabin said respectfully, “concerning the methods and the working of this society. Its inception and inauguration were above reproach. I myself at once became a member. My wife, Countess of Radantz, and sole representative of that ancient family, has been one all her life.” The Emperor inclined his head towards Lucille. “I see no reason,” he said, “when our capitals are riddled with secret societies, all banded together against us, why the great families of Europe should not in their turn come together and display a united front against this common enemy. The Order of the Yellow Crayon has had more than my support. It has had the sanction of my name. Tell me what you have against it.” “I have grave things to say concerning it,” Mr. Sahin answered, “and concerning those who have wilfully deceived your Majesty. The influences to be wielded by the society were mainly, I believe, wealth, education, and influence. There was no mention made of murder, of an underground alliance with the ‘gamins’ of Paris, the dregs of humanity, prisoners, men skilled in the art of secret death.” The Emperor’s tone was stern, almost harsh. “Duc de Souspennier, what are these things which you are saying?” he asked. “Your Majesty, I speak the truth,” Mr. Sabin answered firmly. “There are in the Order of the Yellow Crayon three degrees of membership. The first, which alone your Majesty knows of, simply corresponds with what in England is known as the Primrose League. The second knows that beneath is another organisation pledged to frustrate the advance of socialism, if necessary by the use of their own weapons. The third, whose meetings and signs and whose whole organisation is carried on secretly, is allied in every capital in Europe with criminals and murderers. With its great wealth it has influence in America as well as in every city of the world where there are police to be suborned, or desperate men to be bought for tools. At the direction of this third order Lavinski died suddenly in the Hungarian House of Parliament, Herr Krettingen was involved in a duel, the result of which was assured beforehand, and Reginald Brott, the great English statesman, was ruined and disgraced. I myself have just narrowly escaped death at his hands, and in my place my servant has been driven to death. Of all these things, your Majesty, I have brought proofs.” The Emperor’s face was like a carven image, but his tone was cold and terrible. “If these things have been sanctioned,” he said, “by those who are responsible for my having become the head of the Order; they shall feel my vengeance.” “Your Majesty,” Mr. Sabin said earnestly, “a chance disclosure, and all might come to light. I myself could blazon the story through Europe. Those who are responsible for the third degree of the Order of the Yellow Crayon, and for your Majesty’s ignorance concerning its existence, have trifled with the destiny of the greatest sovereign of modern times.” “The Prince of Saxe Leinitzer,” the Emperor said, “is the acting head of the Order.” “The Prince of Saxe Leinitzer,” Mr. Sabin said firmly, “is responsible for the existence of the third degree. It is he who has connected the society with a system of corrupt police or desperate criminals in every great city. It is the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer, your Majesty, and his horde of murderers from whom I have come to seek your Majesty’s protection. I have yet another charge to make against him. He has made, and is making still, use of the society to further his own private intrigues. In the name of the Order he brought my wife from America. She faithfully carried out the instructions of the Council. She brought about the ruin of Reginald Brott. By the rules of the society she was free then to return to her home. The Prince, who had been her suitor, declined to let her go. My life was attempted. The story of the Prince’s treason is here, with the necessary proofs. I know that orders have been given to the hired murderers of the society for my assassination. My life even here is probably an uncertain thing. But I have told your Majesty the truth, and the papers which I have brought with me contain proof of my words.” The Emperor struck a bell and gave a few orders to the young officer who immediately answered it. Then he turned again to Mr. Sabin. “I have summoned Saxe Leinitzer to Berlin,” he said. “These matters shall be gone into most thoroughly. In the meantime what can I do for you?” “We will await the coming of the Prince,” Mr. Sabin answered grimly. Lady Carey passed from her bath-room into a luxurious little dressing-room. Her letters and coffee were on a small table near the fire, an easy-chair was drawn up to the hearthrug. She fastened the girdle of her dressing-gown, and dismissed her maid. “I will ring for you in half an hour, Annette,” she said. “See that I am not disturbed.” On her way to the fireplace she paused for a moment in front of a tall looking-glass, and looked steadily at her own reflection. “I suppose,” she murmured to herself, “that I am looking at my best now. I slept well last night, and a bath gives one colour, and white is so becoming. Still, I don’t know why I failed. She may be a little better looking, but my figure is as good. I can talk better, I have learnt how to keep a man from feeling dull, and there is my reputation. Because I played at war correspondence, wore a man’s clothes, and didn’t shriek when I was under fire, people have chosen to make a heroine of me. That should have counted for something with him—and it didn’t. I could have taken my choice of any man in London—and I wanted him. And I have failed!” She threw herself back in her easy-chair and laughed softly. “Failed! What an ugly word! He is old, and he limps, and I—well, I was never a very bashful person. He was beautifully polite, but he wouldn’t have anything to say to me.” She began to tear open her letters savagely. “Well, it is over. If ever anybody speaks to me about it I think that I shall kill them. That fool Saxe Leinitzer will stroke his beastly moustache, and smile at me out of the corners of his eyes. The Dorset woman, too—bah, I shall go away. What is it, Annette?” “His Highness the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer has called, milady.” “Called! Does he regard this as a call?” she exclaimed, glancing towards the clock. “Tell him, Annette, that your mistress does not receive at such an hour. Be quick, child. Of course I know that he gave you a sovereign to persuade me that it was important, but I won’t see him, so be off.” “But yes, milady,” Annette answered, and disappeared. Lady Carey sipped her coffee. “I think,” she said reflectively, “that it must be Melton.” Annette reappeared. “Milady,” she exclaimed, “His Highness insisted upon my bringing you this card. He was so strange in his manner, milady, that I thought it best to obey.” Lady Carey stretched out her hand. A few words were scribbled on the back of his visiting card in yellow crayon. She glanced at it, tore the card up, and threw the pieces into the fire. “My shoes and stockings, Annette,” she said, “and just a morning wrap—anything will do.” The Prince was walking restlessly up and down the room, when Lady Carey entered. He welcomed her with a little cry of relief. “Heavens!” he exclaimed. “I thought that you were never coming.” “I was in no hurry,” she answered calmly. “I could guess your news, so I had not even the spur of curiosity.” He stopped short. “You have heard nothing! It is not possible?” She shrugged her shoulders. “No, but I know you, and I know him. I am quite prepared to hear that you are outwitted. Indeed, to judge from your appearance there can be no doubt about it. Remember I warned you.” The Prince was pale with fury. “No one could foresee this,” he exclaimed. “He has walked into the lion’s den.” “Then,” Lady Carey said, “I am quite prepared to hear that he tamed the lion.” “If there was one person living whom I could have sworn that this man dared not visit, it was our Emperor,” the Prince said. “It is only a few years since, through this man’s intrigues, Germany was shamed before the world.” “And yet,” Lady Carey said sweetly, “the Emperor has received him.” “I have private intelligence from Berlin,” Saxe Leinitzer answered. “Mr. Sabin was in possession of a letter written to him by the Emperor Frederick, thanking him for some service or other; and the letter was a talisman.” “How like him,” Lady Carey murmured, “to have the letter.” “What a pity,” the Prince sneered, “that such devotion should remain unrewarded.” Lady Carey sighed. “He has broken my heart,” she replied. The Prince threw out his hands. “You and I,” he cried, “why do we behave like children! Let us start afresh. Listen! The Emperor has summoned me to Berlin.” “Dear me,” Lady Carey murmured. “I am afraid you will have a most unpleasant visit.” “I dare not go,” the Prince said slowly. “It was I who induced the Emperor to become the titular head of this cursed Order. Of course he knew nothing about the second or third degree members and our methods. Without doubt he is fully informed now. I dare not face him.” “What shall you do?” Lady Carey asked curiously. “I am off to South America,” he said. “It is a great undeveloped country, and there is room for us to move there. Muriel, you know what I want of you.” “My good man,” she answered, “I haven’t the faintest idea.” “You will come with me,” he begged. “You will not send me into exile so lonely, a wanderer! Together there may be a great future before us. You have ambition, you love intrigue, excitement, danger. None of these can you find here. You shall come with me. You shall not say no. Have I not been your devoted slave? Have—” She stopped him. Her lips were parted in a smile of good-natured scorn. “Don’t be absurd, Saxe Leinitzer. It is true that I love intrigue, excitement and danger. That is what made me join your Order, and really I have had quite a little excitement out of it, for which I suppose I ought to thank you. But as for the rest, why, you are talking rubbish. I would go to South America to-morrow with the right man, but with you, why, it won’t bear talking about. It makes me angry to think that you should believe me capable of such shocking taste as to dream of going away with you.” He flung himself from the room. Lady Carey went back to her coffee and letters. She sent for Annette. “Annette,” she directed, “we shall go to Melton to-morrow. Wire Haggis to have the Lodge in order, and carriages to meet the midday train. I daresay I shall take a few people down with me. Let George go around to Tattershalls at once and make an appointment for me there at three o’clock this afternoon. Look out my habits and boots, too, Annette.” Lady Carey leaned back in her chair for a moment with half-closed eyes. “I think,” she murmured, “that some of us in our youth must have drunk from some poisoned cup, something which turned our blood into quicksilver. I must live, or I must die. I must have excitement every hour, every second, or break down. There are others too—many others. No wonder that that idiot of a man in Harley Street talked to me gravely about my heart. No excitement. A quiet life! Bah! Such wishy-washy coffee and only one cigarette.” She lit it and stood up on the hearthrug. Her eyes were half closed, every vestige of colour had left her cheeks, her hand was pressed hard to her side. For a few minutes she seemed to struggle for breath. Then with a little lurch as though still giddy, she stooped, and picking up her fallen cigarette, thrust it defiantly between her teeth. “Not this way,” she muttered. “From a horse’s back if I can with the air rushing by, and the hot joy of it in one’s heart... Only I hope it won’t hurt the poor old gee... Come in, Annette. What a time you’ve been, child.” ****** The Emperor sent for Mr. Sabin. He declined to recognise his incognito. “Monsieur le Duc,” he said, “if proof of your story were needed it is here. The Prince of Saxe Leinitzer has ignored my summons. He has fled to South America.” Mr. Sabin bowed. “A most interesting country,” he murmured, “for the Prince.” “You yourself are free to go when and where you will. You need no longer have any fears. The Order does not exist. I have crushed it.” Mr. Sabin bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said, “has shown exemplary wisdom.” “From its inception,” the Emperor said, “I believe that the idea was a mistaken one. I must confess that its originality pleased me; my calmer reflections, however, show me that I was wrong. It is not for the nobles of the earth to copy the methods of socialists and anarchists. These men are a pest upon humanity, but they may have their good uses. They may help us to govern alertly, vigorously, always with our eyes and ears strained to catch the signs of the changing times. Monsieur le Duc, should you decide to take up your residence in this country I shall at all times be glad to receive you. But your future is entirely your own.” Mr. Sabin accepted his dismissal from audience, and went back to Lucille. “The Prince,” he told her, “has gone—to South America. The Order does not exist any longer. Will you dine in Vienna, or in Frankfort?” She held out her arms. “You wonderful man!” she cried. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YELLOW CRAYON *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. 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