asked his name and business.

"I have a letter for you, Mr. Karospina--if you are that gentleman--and
as I have put myself to much trouble in getting to you, I think I
deserve a little consideration."

"A letter, my worthy sir! And for me? Who told you to come here? How do
you know my name?" This angered the young man.

"It is from Prince K. _The_ Prince. Now are you satisfied?" he added, as
his questioner turned red and then paled as if the news were too
startling for his nerves.

"Come in, come in!" he cried. "Mila, Mila, here is a guest. Fetch tea to
the laboratory." He literally dragged Shannon within doors and led him
across a stone corridor to a large room, but not before he had bolted
and barred the entrance to his mysterious fortress. Seeing the other's
look of quiet amusement, he laughed himself:--

"Wolves, my dear sir, wolves, _human_ wolves, prowl on the beach at
night, and while I have no treasures, it is well to be on the safe side.
Mila, Mila, the tea, the tea." There was a passionate intensity in his
utterance that attracted Gerald from his survey of the chamber. He saw
that in the light Karospina was a much older man than he had at first
supposed. But the broad shoulders, the thick chest, and short, powerful
figure and bullet head belied his years. Incredulously his visitor asked
himself if this were the wonderful, the celebrated Karospina, chemist,
revolutionary, mystic, nobleman, and millionnaire. A Russian, he knew
that--yet he looked more like the monk one sees depicted on the canvases
of the early Flemish painters. His high, wide brow and deep-set, dark
eyes proclaimed the thinker; and because of his physique, he might have
posed as a prize-fighter.

He took the letter and read it as the door opened and the girl came in
with the tea. She wore her hair braided in two big plaits which hung
between her shoulders, and her bold, careless glance from eyes sea-blue
made the Irishman forget his host and the rigours of the afternoon. A
Russian beauty, with bare, plump arms, and dressed in peasant costume;
but--a patrician! Her fair skin and blond hair filled him with
admiration. What the devil!--he thought, and came near saying it aloud.

"My niece, Princess Mila Georgovics, Mr. Shannon." Gerald acknowledged
the introduction with his deepest bow. He was dazzled. He had come to
this dreary place to talk politics. But now this was out of the
question. And he began explaining to the Princess; Mila he h