“Oh, and I didn’t know the alphabet, and now we have lost him again!” cried Helene. “It’s all my fault. He was trying to tell me something. Oh, if I had only known!” and she burst into tears. “Perhaps we shall never see him again.”

Mr Hicks was thinking deeply. “I guess I’ll ride on ahead,” he said to Usk. “I don’t see but the notion that’s just come to me may be right. We know the carriage didn’t pass along this road, and I’ll go on to Klotsch, and see if it passed there. If not, I’ll get another horse and ride to Novigrad all I’m worth, and have them give me a warrant, or police permit, or whatever they call it, to search the Pelenko house. For if the carriage has not been seen on the road, it seems clear to me that it just waited around in the woods somewhere while Lady Usk was got out of the way, and then went right back to the house. And if the Count is there yet, why——”

“Underground!” cried Helene. “He began to speak of passages, or something of that kind.”

“We’ll see. I’ll ride on, anyway.”

But Mr Hicks’s haste was in vain. Police assistance was obtained, and the Pelenko mansion duly searched, the old servants left in charge showing even the subterranean rooms, which had been constructed in Roumi days as a refuge in case of need. They knew that the foreign doctor, and the mad gentleman who imagined himself to be Prince Shishman, and the Dardanian servants, had all left the day before, but they could not say where they had gone. They had travelled in their own carriage, but no one had seen it on the road. The mystery was as deep as ever.

CHAPTER XXI.
QUEEN AND KING.

The fifth Neustrian Revolution was complete. The plébiscite had been taken, and by an overwhelming majority Prince Timoleon Lucanor Malasorte was requested to proclaim himself Emperor of the Neustrians. Such a request was naturally regarded as a command by the person most concerned, and the telegram which informed foreign countries of the result of the plébiscite contained also the first proclamation of the Emperor Timoleon V. A semi-official communiqué accompanying the intelligence announced that the betrothal of the new monarch to the Grand-Duchess Sonya Eugenovna, cousin of the Emperor of Scythia, would take place almost immediately, and that this union would cement a closer alliance between the two countries than could ever have subsisted while the government of one was an autocracy and of the other a republic. These items of news were received without surprise by Europe generally, but in one distant corner of the continent they resulted in a wholly unexpected series of events.

It happened that there was a luncheon-party at the Palace at Bellaviste, to which the Premier, who had but just received the message from Neustria, came late, bringing the telegram with him. He said nothing until the meal was over, but then asked for an immediate audience of the King. Displeased by the breaking-up of her party, and no more disposed than she had been as Miss Steinherz to accept meekly anything that interfered with her wishes, Queen Félicia sent her equerry to ask her husband and Prince Mirkovics what the news was. The King, who had learnt by experience that his bride was quite capable of pursuing him and assisting at the interview unless her request was complied with, sent her a copy of the telegram, which she read as she moved about among her guests.

“Logan, come right here. I want you this instant!” were the words that startled the room, and made Baroness Radnika, who had accompanied the new Queen as her mistress of the household, look round in distress. She had thought Félicia cured of her Americanisms, but at the first moment of excitement the old habits revived. A covert glance of amusement passed between the ladies of the British and United States legations, and the Baroness threw herself bravely into the breach by trying to start a fresh subject of conversation as Maimie responded to Félicia’s summons.

“Read that, now. I might have been an empress to-day,” said the Queen, putting the telegram into her friend’s hand.