pold
dashed in, careless whether he were recognized or no, and was
surprised at the absence of the crowd which usually throngs the
platform before the departure of the most important train of the day.

"Is the Orient Express late?" he asked of an inspector to whom he was
but a man among other men.

"No, sir. Just on time. Went out five minutes ago."

"But it isn't due to start till twelve."

"Summer time-table, sir. Autumn time-table takes effect to-day, the
first of October. Orient Express departure changed to eleven-fifty."

An unreasoning rage against fate boiled in the Emperor's breast. He
ruled this country, yet everything in it seemed to conspire in a plot
to wreck his dearest desires.

For a few seconds he stood speechless, feeling as if he had been
dashed against a blank wall, and there were no way of getting round
it. Yet the seconds were but few, for Leopold was not a man of slow
decisions.

His first step was to inquire the name of the town at which the Orient
Express stopped soonest. In three hours, he learnt, it would reach
Felgarde, the last station on the Rhaetian side of the frontier.

His first thought on hearing this was to engage a special, and follow;
but even in these days there is much red tape entangled with railway
regulations in Rhaetia. It soon appeared that it would be quicker to
take the next train to Felgarde, which was due to leave in half an
hour, and would arrive only an hour later than the Orient Express.

Leopold's heart was chilled, but he shook off despondency and would
not be discouraged. Telephoning to the hotel where the Mowbrays had
been stopping, he learned that they had gone. Then he wrote out a
telegram: "Miss Helen Mowbray, Traveling from Kronburg to Paris by
Orient Express, Care of Station-master at Felgarde. I implore you
leave the train at Felgarde and wait for me. Am following in all
haste. Will arrive Felgarde one hour after you, and hope to find you
at Leopoldhof." So far the wording was simple. He had signified his
intention and expressed his wish, which would have been more than
enough to assure the accomplishment of his purpose, had he been
dealing with a subject. Unfortunately, however, Helen Mowbray was not
a subject, and had exhibited no sign of subjection. It was therefore
futile to prophesy whether or no she would choose to grant his
request.

Revolving the pros and cons he was forced to conclude that she
probably would not grant it--unless he had so