"Yes," Lechmere replied. "He said that he was going to put the third programme into execution."
Maxgregor chuckled and his dark angry face relaxed. He managed to crawl out of bed, but he was still very weak and staggering. He dressed with Lechmere's assistance.
"Call a cab and take me as far as the queen's hotel," he said. "I must see her majesty alone. It is important that she keeps quiet at this junction. She must be persuaded to drive about and show herself just as if nothing had happened."
But there was nothing quiet about the queen as the two arrived at the hotel. She was pacing up and down the morning room, despite Vera Galloway's efforts to soothe her. The girl lay on a couch, for her ankle was still giving her a deal of pain.
"So you have managed to come to me, brave heart," the queen cried, as she held out both hands to Maxgregor. "What should I do without your devoted courage? Are you well enough to accompany me across the Channel. I am going at once."
"You are going to do nothing of the kind, madame," Maxgregor said sternly. "The thing is already in the most capable hands. May I beg a few words in private with you?"
The queen led the way into an inner room. Vera turned eagerly to Lechmere. Her face was pale and her eyes were heavy with the tears that she was too proud to let fall.
"Is there anything fresh to tell me?" she demanded eagerly. "I did not care to mention my private grief before the queen, who has been so good to me. But Charles Maxwell was in that train also. If there has been a bad accident, if it is to be called an accident——"
"It was no accident," Lechmere said grimly. "The thing was done deliberately. And we dare not make too many enquiries because it may arouse suspicion. Try and fix your mind on something else. It is just as imperative now as it was yesterday to regain possession of those papers you risked so much to get."