“It was brought by a messenger—a man in a kilt, who came in a motor car. I didn't know whether father would let you have it, so I brought it up myself.”
“Is the messenger waiting?”
“No; he went straight off again.”
Unrolling the scrap he read this brief message scrawled in pencil and evidently in dire haste—
“All is lost! I am prisoner! Go straightway to London for help from my Embassy.
“R. VON B.”
“Good heavens!” he exclaimed aloud.
“Is it bad news?” asked Julia, with a solicitude that instantly suggested possibilities to his fertile brain.
“Horribly!” he said. “It tells of a calamity that has befallen a very dear friend of mine! Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph! And I a helpless prisoner!”
As he anticipated, this outburst of emotion was not without its effect.