y drop in here as a traveler, aiming at nothing in
particular?"

"Yes."

"Did you never know Ruth--"

"Miss--"

"Miss Ruth Atheson before?"

"No."

"Ever hear of her?"

"No."

"Are you really--interested in her?"

"Yes."

"Do you intend to stay interested?"

"Yes."

"I _was_ mistaken. You don't know, and I guess it's my duty to tell
you the truth. This girl is a _runaway_."

"What?" Mark was rising.

Saunders put out his hand. "Easy now, Griffin, easy now. Just wait.
I am going to tell you something. I see that you really know nothing,
and it's up to me to enlighten you. As I said, Ruth Atheson is _not_
Ruth Atheson. She's the daughter of a grand duke. I can't tell you
the name of the Grand Duchy, but I'll say this: it isn't very far from
a certain Big Kingdom we hear a great deal about now--in fact the Duchy
is a dependency of the Big Kingdom--more than that, the so-called Ruth
Atheson is heiress presumptive to the throne. She'll some day be the
Grand Duchess."

Mark sat stunned. It was with difficulty that he could speak. He saw
a tragedy that Saunders could not see. Then he broke out:

"But you? How do you know?"

"It's my business to know--the business you don't like. I was
instructed to watch her. She got out of Europe before certain people
could reach her--"

"But," objected Mark, "how do I know you are telling the truth?"

Saunders dug into his pocket and pulled out a postal card. "This will
tell you--or the photograph on it will."

The picture was a foreign one, bearing the strange characters of a
Slavic language, such a card as is sold in every country with portraits
of reigning or distinguished personages. The facsimile signature, in a
bold feminine hand across the lower part of the picture, was "Carlotta."

"Do you believe me now, Griffin?" asked Saunders, with some sympathy
showing on his face, which fact alone saved Mark from smashing it.

"I am afraid I must, Saunders. You had better tell me the whole of
this."

"I will; for, as I have sized up the situation, it is best that I
should. The Duchess ran away. She was supposed to be at San Sebastian
with a trusted attendant. The attendant was evidently _not_ to be
trusted, for _she_ disappeared, too. They were traced to London, then
to Madeira, then to a North German Lloyd liner which stopped at the
island on its way to America. Then to Boston. Then to Sihasset."

"This attendant you spoke of--what wa