“The Prince of Saxe Leinitzer,” Mr. Sabin said firmly, “is responsible for the existence of the third degree.  It is he who has connected the society with a system of corrupt police or desperate criminals in every great city.  It is the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer, your Majesty, and his horde of murderers from whom I have come to seek your Majesty’s protection.  I have yet another charge to make against him.  He has made, and is making still, use of the society to further his own private intrigues.  In the name of the Order he brought my wife from America.  She faithfully carried out the instructions of the Council.  She brought about the ruin of Reginald Brott.  By the rules of the society she was free then to return to her home.  The Prince, who had been her suitor, declined to let her go.  My life was attempted.  The story of the Prince’s treason is here, with the necessary proofs.  I know that orders have been given to the hired murderers of the society for my assassination.  My life even here is probably an uncertain thing.  But I have told your Majesty the truth, and the papers which I have brought with me contain proof of my words.”

The Emperor struck a bell and gave a few orders to the young officer who immediately answered it.  Then he turned again to Mr. Sabin.

“I have summoned Saxe Leinitzer to Berlin,” he said.  “These matters shall be gone into most thoroughly.  In the meantime what can I do for you?”

“We will await the coming of the Prince,” Mr. Sabin answered grimly.

* * * * *

Lady Carey passed from her bath-room into a luxurious little dressing-room.  Her letters and coffee were on a small table near the fire, an easy-chair was drawn up to the hearthrug.  She fastened the girdle of her dressing-gown, and dismissed her maid.

“I will ring for you in half an hour, Annette,” she said.  “See that I am not disturbed.”

On her way to the fireplace she paused for a moment in front of a tall looking-glass, and looked steadily at her own reflection.

“I suppose,” she murmured to herself, “that I am looking at my best now.  I slept well last night, and a bath gives one colour, and white is so becoming.  Still, I don’t know why I failed.  She may be a little better looking, but my figure is as good.  I can talk better, I have learnt how to keep a man from feeling dull, and there is my reputation.  Because I played at war correspondence, wore a man’s clothes, and didn’t shriek when I was under fire, people have chosen to make a heroine of me.  That should have counted for something with him—­and it didn’t.  I could have taken my choice of any man in London—­and I wanted him.  And I have failed!”

She threw herself back in her easy-chair and laughed softly.

“Failed!  What an ugly word!  He is old, and he limps, and I—­well, I was never a very bashful person.  He was beautifully polite, but he wouldn’t have anything to say to me.”