"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.