nths, he would not have asked so absurd a
question.

"No, no," said Kensky, "this is not a matter for the police. It is a
matter for those who love her."

"What can I do?" asked Malcolm hastily.

He had a horrible feeling that his secret had been surprised, for he was
of the age when love is fearless of everything except ridicule.

"You could watch the club," said Kensky. "I myself would go, but I am
too old, and this English weather makes me sick."

"You mean actually watch it?" said Malcolm in surprise. "Why, I'll do
that like a shot!"

"Note who goes in and who come out," said Kensky. "Be on hand at all
times, in case you are called upon for help. You will see my daughter
there," he said, after a pause, and a faint smile curved his pale lips.
"Yes, Sophia Kensky is a great conspirator!"

"Whom do you expect me to see?" asked the other bluntly.

Kensky got up from his chair and went to a leather bag which stood on
the sideboard. This he unlocked, and from a mass of papers took a
photograph. He brought it back to the young man.

"Why," said Malcolm in surprise, "that is the man Serganoff, the Prince
fellow!"

Kensky nodded slowly.

"That is Serganoff," he said. "Here is another picture of him, but not
of his face."

It was, in fact, a snapshot photograph showing the back of the Police
Chief; and it might have been, thought Malcolm, of a tailor's dummy,
with its wasp waist and its perfectly creased trousers.

"Particularly I wish to know whether he will visit the club in the next
two days," said the old man. "It is important that you should look for
him."

"Anybody else?"

Kensky hesitated.

"I hope not," he said. "I hope not!"

Malcolm Hay went back to his hotel, feeling a new zest in life. His
experience of the past few days had been incredible. He, an unknown
student, had found himself suddenly plunged into the heart of an
anarchist plot, and on nodding terms with royal highnesses! He laughed
softly as he sat on the edge of his bed and reviewed all the
circumstances, but did not laugh when the thought occurred to him that
the danger which might be threatening this girl was very real.

That side of the adventure sobered him. He had sense enough to see that
it was the unalienable right of youth to believe in fairies and to love
beautiful princesses, and that such passions were entitled to disturb
the rest and obscure the judgment of their victims for days and even for
weeks. But he had an unple