"I feel the veriest scoundrel," he said, bitterly. "It sickens me—but you've got me fast."
"Yes," agreed Collins, with a malicious grin, "we've got you fast."
"Though not quite as fast as you think, perhaps," added Vernon, quietly. "I warn you that I will break the bonds if they become too galling. I see that I'm going to owe Prince Frederick a hearty apology before this thing is over."
"Oh, I shan't interfere with your apology when the time conies," retorted Collins.
"I should hope not," said Vernon, still more quietly; then he turned and entered the inner room.
"You mustn't push him too hard, Arthur," said Blake, in a low tone, "or he'll kick over the traces. Remember, he is devilish high-spirited. And he won't lie."
"It takes a firm hand to keep him under control; but I'll be careful. And he won't have to lie. It's confoundedly unfortunate Markeld couldn't have left his dog at home! Just see how small a thing may affect the fate of nations!"
"Don't get philosophical," advised Blake. "There isn't time. Are you going to send that note?"
Collins sealed the missive.
"It's our only chance," he said, decidedly. "Don't you see; we've got to brazen this thing through. We're in a corner, and there's only one way out." He went to the door and opened it. "For the Prince of Markeld," he said, as he handed the note to the man who stood outside.