ed the blood out of a man and
substituted ice-water in its stead. Now I know it. Permit me to add that
you have not seen the girl--either girl--though I don't suppose that
would make the slightest difference."

"May I inquire what you propose to do?" asked Collins, flushing a
little.

"I propose to cultivate the acquaintance of the beautiful Americans in
every way I can. After all, what does it matter to me who rules over a
little twopenny duchy called Schloshold-Markheim?"

"I suppose your promise is of equal indifference to you!"

"Damn my promise! See here, Collins; don't push me too far; the worm
will turn. Of course, I'll keep my promise; but don't irritate me. I'm
all on edge over this thing now--a little more, and I'll be capable of
doing something--"

A tap at the door interrupted him, and he disappeared between two
curtains into the inner room, where an invalid chair, buried in wraps,
stood by the window. Near it was a little table covered with medicine
bottles, glasses, spoons--in a word, all the paraphernalia of prolonged
and serious illness.

Blake opened the door and took the card that was presented to him.

"The Prince of Markeld," he said, looking at it. "Ah, yes; you will
tell His Highness that there has been no change in the condition of Lord
Vernon, who thanks him for his kind inquiries."

He closed the door and turned back into the room.

"Now, what do you think that means?" he asked, of Collins. "That's the
second time today. He's getting importunate."

Collins stared out of the window gloomily.

"Perhaps he suspects already," he said. "I've been told he's a clever
fellow--in fact, he's proved it once or twice."

"Suppose he does suspect--what shall we do?"

"Convince him to the contrary. Where's Scaddam?"

"In his room, I suppose."

"Better send for him."

"May I come out?" inquired a voice from the inner room.

"Yes, come ahead," called Collins, and Vernon reappeared. "Now, my
friend," he continued rapidly, "you'd better go in and put on your
war-togs." Vernon groaned. "Put 'em on thick. I believe Markeld suspects
the trick we're playing, and we've got to fool him--we've got to show
him what a sick man you are."

"How _could_ he suspect?" demanded Vernon, incredulously. "Even if he
saw me, he couldn't recognise me--he doesn't know me."

"Perhaps those girls have already given you away."

"Nonsense! You fellows are afraid of your own shadows. He can't
suspect!"

"Just the