“To your astuteness, Markoff, I have owed my life a score of times,” the Emperor declared. “I have already acknowledged your devoted services. Now make haste and discover the whereabouts of my harebrained little niece, Tattie, for the little witch is utterly incorrigible.”
Markoff, pale and hard-faced, was silent for a moment. Then with a strange expression upon his grey, deceitful countenance he said:
“Perhaps I should inform Your Majesty of one point which to-day was reported to us from England—namely, that it is believed that Her Highness has fled with—well, with a lover—a certain young Englishman.”
“A lover!” roared the Emperor, his face instantly white with anger. “Another lover! Who is he, pray?”
“His name is Richard Drury,” His Excellency replied.
“Then the girl has created an open scandal! The English and French newspapers will get hold of it, and we shall have detailed accounts of the elopement—eh?” he cried excitedly. “This, Markoff, is really too much!” Then turning to me he asked: “What do you know of this young Drury? Tell me, Trewinnard.”
“Very little, Sire, except that he is her friend, and that he is in ignorance of her true station.”
“But are they in love with each other?” he demanded in a hard voice. “Have you neglected my instructions and allowed clandestine meetings—eh?”
“Unfortunately my journey across Siberia prevented my exercising due vigilance,” I faltered. “Yet she gave me her word of honour that she would form no male attachment.”
“Bosh!” he cried angrily, as he crossed the room. “No girl can resist falling in love with a man if he is good-looking and a gentleman—at least, no girl of Tattie’s high spirits and disregard for the convenances. You were a fool, Trewinnard, to accept the girl’s word.”