Together they tiptoed rapidly to the porch—and almost collapsed upon the broad bosom of Constable Alfred Marks.
“No, you don’t, me ’earty!” said the Law. “Hi wants ’im,” he said to Rosamond, jerking his thumb at the prince. “The Chief don’t feel contented-like with this affair. There’s too many stories habout ’im wot don’t hagree. So ’e sends me back ’ere to take charge of ’im, and to make a hinvestigation all official and reg’lar.”
“I’ll answer any questions,” she pleaded desperately, “but this gentleman must go....” The constable silenced her, impressively.
“Hi ’opes ’e wont make no more trouble; cos, if Hi gets to shootin’—w’ich Hi would”—he glared to enforce this—“Hi might ’it some of your fondest nicknacks.” He pointed his revolver about at the antiques on the walls.
“That is well, officer.” Howard stood in the doorway. “The fellow must remain here.”
“But, I’m delighted,” the Incognito asserted. He addressed Howard, gayly. “You know, this is my second attempt to leave this house. It’s an adventure! A house with four doors and seven windows, and yet I absolutely can’t get out of it!”
It was plain to Rosamond that, all unaware of his danger, his whimsical nature was delighted with the new and odd turn his fortunes had taken.
“By your leave, ma’am,” Mr. Marks pulled the long bamboo settle across the open width of the double French doors, and sat down, a war-like speck in the centre of it, toying significantly with his weapon.
“Oh, Your Highness, I did my best to save you!” Rosamond whispered, despairingly. She dropped into the nearest chair and softly wept.