“Yes.”
“She must cross to the Continent to-night before
the police get on the scent. Afterwards she
must double back to Havre and take the Bordlaise for
New York on Saturday. Once there I can guarantee
her protection.”
“Well?”
“She cannot go alone.”
“You mean that I should go with her?”
“Yes! Get her right away, and I will employ
special detectives and have the matter cleared up,
if ever it can be. But if she remains here I
fear that nothing can save her from the horror of an
arrest, even if afterwards we are able to save her.
You yourself risk much, Brott. The only question
that remains is, will you do it?”
“At her bidding—yes!” Brott
declared.
“Wait here,” the Prince answered.
Saxe Leinitzer returned to the morning-room, and taking
the key from his pocket unlocked the door. Inside
Lucille was pale with fury.
“What! I am a prisoner, then!”
she exclaimed. “How dare you lock me in?
This is not your house. Let me pass! I
am tired of all this stupid espionage.”
The Prince stood with his back to the door.
“It is for your own sake, Lucille. The
house is watched.”
She sank into a low chair, trembling. The Prince
had all the appearance of a man himself seriously
disturbed.
“Lucille,” he said, “we will do
what we can for you. The whole thing is horribly
unfortunate. You must leave England to-night.
Muriel will go with you. Her presence will help
to divert suspicion. Once you can reach Paris
I can assure you of safety. But in this country
I am almost powerless.”
“I must see Victor,” she said in a low
tone. “I will not go without.”
The Prince nodded.
“I have thought of that. There is no reason,
Lucille, why he should not be the one to lead you
into safety.”
“You mean that?” she cried.
“I mean it,” the Prince answered.
“After what has happened you are of course
of no further use to us. I am inclined to think,
too, that we have been somewhat exacting. I
will send a messenger to Souspennier to meet you at
Charing Cross to-night.”
She sprang up.
“Let me write it myself.”
“Very well,” he agreed, with a shrug of
the shoulders. “But do not address or
sign it. There is danger in any communication
between you.”
She took a sheet of note-paper and hastily wrote a
few words.
“I have need of your help. Will you be
at Charing Cross at twelve o’clock prepared
for a journey.—Lucille.”
The Prince took the letter from her and hastily folded
it up.
“I will deliver it myself,” he announced.
“It will perhaps be safest. Until I return,
Lucille, do not stir from the house or see any one.
Muriel has given the servants orders to admit no one.
All your life,” he added, after a moment’s
pause, “you have been a little cruel to me,
and this time also. I shall pray that you will
relent before our next meeting.”
