"You must forgive me, Mr. Hay, if I seem
to be dreaming and I do not entertain you. I am turning over in my mind
so many possibilities, so many plans, and I think I have come to the
right conclusion. You shall stay, and you shall know. I can rely upon
your discretion, can I not?"

"Certainly, but----"

"I know I can!" said the old man, nodding "And you can help me. I am a
stranger in London. Tell me, Mr. Hay, do you know the Cafe of the Silver
Lion?"

The other was staggered by the question.

"No, I can't say that I do," he admitted. "I am a comparative stranger
in London myself."

"Ah, but you can find it. You know all the reference books, which are so
much Greek to me; you could discover it by inquiring of the
police--inquiries made very discreetly, you understand, Mr. Hay?"

Malcolm wondered what he was driving at, but the old man changed the
subject abruptly.

"To-night you will see a lady here. She is coming to me. Again I ask for
your discretion and your silence. Wait!"

He shuffled to the window, pulled aside the blind and looked out.

"She is here," he said in a whisper. "You will stand just there."

He indicated a position which to Malcolm was ludicrously suggestive of
his standing in a corner. Further explanations could neither be given
nor asked for. The door opened suddenly and a girl came in, closing it
behind her. She looked first at Kensky with a smile, and then at the
stranger, and the smile faded from her lips. As for Malcolm, he was
speechless. There was no doubt at all as to the identity. The straight
nose, the glorious eyes, the full, parted lips.

Kensky shuffled across to her, bent down and kissed her hand.

"Highness," he said humbly, "this gentleman is a friend of mine. Trust
old Israel Kensky, Highness!"

"I trust you, Israel Kensky," she replied in Russian, and with the
sweetest smile that Malcolm had ever seen in a woman.

She bowed slightly to the young man, and for the rest of the interview
her eyes and speech were for the Jew. He brought a chair forward for
her, dusted it carefully, and she sat down by the table, leaning her
chin on her palm, and looking at the old man.

"I could not come before," she said. "It was so difficult to get away."

"Your Highness received my letter?"

She nodded.

"But Israel," her voice almost pleaded, "you do not believe that this
thing would happen?"

"Highness, all things are possible," said the old man. "Here in London
the cellars an