Marotte, the butler, in dry clothes, had served luncheon--a silent,

respectable, self-respecting man, calm in his fury at the incredible

outrage perpetrated upon his person.

And now luncheon was over; the Princess at the telephone in her

boudoir; Rue in the music-room with Neeland, still excited, anxious,

confused.

Astonishment, mortification, anger, had left Neeland silent; and the

convention known as luncheon had not appealed to him.

But very little was said during that formality; and in the silence the

serious nature of the episode which so suddenly had deprived the

Princess of the olive-wood box and the papers it contained impressed

Neeland more and more deeply.

The utter unexpectedness of the outrage--the helpless figure he had

cut--infuriated him. And the more he reflected the madder he grew when

he realised that all he had gone through meant nothing now--that every

effort had been sterile, every hour wasted, every step he had taken

from Brookhollow to Paris--to the very doorstep where his duty

ended--had been taken in vain.

It seemed to him in his anger and humiliation that never had any man

been so derided, so heartlessly mocked by the gods.

And now, as he sat there behind lowered blinds in the cool half-light

of the music-room, he could feel the hot blood of resentment and

chagrin in his cheeks.

"Nobody could have foreseen it," repeated Rue Carew in a pretty,

bewildered voice. "And if the Princess Naïa had no suspicions, how

could I harbour any--or how could you?"

"I've been sufficiently tricked--or I thought I had been--to be on my

guard. But it seems not. I ought never to have been caught in such a

disgusting trap--such a simple, silly, idiotic cage! But--good Lord!

How on earth was a man to suspect anything so--so naturally planned

and executed--so simply done. It was an infernal masterpiece, Rue.

But--that is no consolation to a man who has been made to appear like

a monkey!"

The Princess, entering, overheard; and she seated herself and looked

tranquilly at Neeland as he resumed his place on the sofa.

"You were not to blame, Jim," she said. "It was my fault. I had

warning enough at the railroad terminal when an accident to my car was

reported to me by the control through you." She added, calmly: "There

was no accident."

"No accident?" exclaimed Neeland, astonished.

"None at all. My new footman, who followed us to the waiting salon for

incoming trains, returned to my chauffeur, Caron, saying that he was

to go back to the garage and await orders. I have just called the

garage and I had Caron on the wire. There was no accident; he has not

been injured; and--the new footman has disappeared!"

"It was a clear case of treachery?" exclaimed Neeland.

"Absolutely a plot. The pretended official at the terminal control

was an accomplice of my footman, of the taxicab driver, of the

pretended street-cleaners--and of whom else I can, perhaps, imagine."




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