“Don’t be too sure,” I interposed, “it may quite well be that the girl really is the Princess. If the old lady had wanted her only daughter brought up away from the court, what could be more natural than that she should give her to her only disinterested friend, a woman whom she could trust, and who lived nearby, and yet outside the country?”
“Yes,” John admitted, “not that it is going to make much difference, as I see it. Her fate isn’t going to be determined by her identity, but by Conrad and the Black Ghost. My guess is that they mean to assassinate her as quietly as possible, blame it on someone else, and take the throne.”
I agreed, but said that it wasn’t any of our affair, anyway, but that we must get Helena’s message to the Queen.
“All I wish,” John said, “is that I were sure that that nice Countess Visichich were not mixed up in the assassination part. That I should hate.”
“Our business at present,” I said, “is to get out of this place before we are returned with thanks to the more careful custody of our black-masked friend. We may be able to save the girl’s life, and save Countess Visichich from even a reflected guilt in her death.”
“Bravo,” said John, “and a splendid chance of escape we’d have hopping on the heads of that mob out there. You might try picking the lock of that door, though.”
“Ever try it?”
“No.”
“Besides, we haven’t anything to pick it with. Have to have something in the way of tools.”
“Oh, for a woman with hairpins.”