The minister took the letter. He read it with bulging eyes. "Good

heavens, it must be one of her Highness' jokes!"

"It will be a sorry joke for you if she crosses any of the frontiers."

"But--"

"But!" roared the duke. "Don't you dare bring up that word scandal!

Seek her. Turn everybody out,--the army, the police, everybody. When

you locate her, telegraph, and have a special engine awaiting me at the

station. And if you play a poor game of cards to-night I'll take away

your portfolio. Remember, if she passes the frontier, off goes your

official head!"

"And the fellow, who is he?"

"The good Lord only knows! That girl! . . . Witness these grey hairs.

Put the rascal in irons; I'll attend to his case when I arrive. . . .

Where is Steinbock?"

"He was arrested this morning in Berlin; I have already applied for his

extradition."

"Good! Now, be off with you! Leave no stone unturned. The expense is

nothing; I will gladly pay it out of my private purse."

"I'll find her," said the minister grimly. His portfolio hung in the

balance.

All at once the duke struck his hands together jubilantly.

"What is it?" asked the minister. "A clue?"

"Nothing, nothing! Be gone; you are wasting time."

The minister of police dashed out of the room as if pursued by a

thousand devils. He knew the duke's mood; it was not one to cross or

irritate. No sooner was he gone than the duke left his apartments and

sought those of his niece. It might be a joke; it would do no harm to

find out positively. But the beautiful suite was empty; even her

Highness' maid was gone. He then knocked on the door which led into

Betty's boudoir, not very gently either.

"Open!" he bellowed.

"Who is it?" demanded a maid's frightened voice.

"The duke! Open instantly!"

"It is quite impossible," said another voice from within. It was calm

and firm. "I am dressing."

"I must see you this instant. Open or I shall force the door!"

"Is your serene Highness mad?"

"Will you open this door?"

"You command it?"

"A hundred times, yes!"

"Since you command it." The voice was no longer calm; it was sharp and

angry.

The wait seemed an hour to his serene Highness, serene no longer. At

length the bolt slipped, and the irate duke shouldered his way in. The

tableau which met his gaze embarrassed him for a space. He was even

ashamed. The Honorable Betty stood behind a tall-backed chair, an

opera cloak thrown hastily over her bare shoulders. Her hair was

partly down. A beautiful woman in a rage is a fascinating sight. The

duke stared at her irresolutely.




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