Jennie Baxter, Journalist

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JENNIE BAXTER JOURNALIST

By Robert Barr

Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine.

CONTENTS

I. JENNIE MAKES HER TOILETTE AND THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A PORTER

II. JENNIE HAS IMPORTANT CONFERENCES WITH TWO IMPORTANT EDITORS

III. JENNIE INTERVIEWS A FRIGHTENED OFFICIAL

IV. JENNIE LEARNS ABOUT THE DIAMONDS OF THE PRINCESS

V. JENNIE MEETS A GREAT DETECTIVE

VI. JENNIE SOLVES THE DIAMOND MYSTERY

VII. JENNIE ARRANGES A CINDERELLA VISIT

VIII. JENNIE MIXES WITH THE ELITE OF EARTH

IX. JENNIE REALIZES THAT GREAT EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEHIND

X. JENNIE ASSISTS IN SEARCHING FOR HERSELF

XI. JENNIE ELUDES AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE

XII. JENNIE TOUCHES THE EDGE OF A GOVERNMENT SECRET

XIII. JENNIE INDULGES IN TEA AND GOSSIP

XIV. JENNIE BECOMES A SPECIAL POLICE OFFICER

XV. JENNIE BESTOWS INFORMATION UPON THE CHIEF OF POLICE

XVI. JENNIE VISITS A MODERN WIZARD IN HIS MAGIC ATTIC

XVII. JENNIE ENGAGES A ROOM IN A SLEEPING-CAR

XVIII. JENNIE ENDURES A TERRIBLE NIGHT JOURNEY

XIX. JENNIE EXPERIENCES THE SURPRISE OF HER LIFE

XX. JENNIE CONVERSES WITH A YOUNG MAN SHE THINKS MUCH OF

XXI. JENNIE KEEPS STEP WITH THE WEDDING MARCH

CHAPTER I. JENNIE MAKES HER TOILETTE AND THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A PORTER.

Miss Jennie Baxter, with several final and dainty touches that put to rights her hat and dress--a little pull here and a pat there--regarded herself with some complacency in the large mirror that was set before her, as indeed she had every right to do, for she was an exceedingly pretty girl. It is natural that handsome young women should attire themselves with extra care, and although Jennie would have been beautiful under any conceivable condition of dress, she nevertheless did not neglect the arraying of herself becomingly on that account. All that was remarkable on this occasion consisted in the fact that she took more than usual pains to make herself presentable, and it must be admitted that the effect was as attractive as anyone could wish to have it. Her appearance was enough to send a friend into ecstasies, or drive an enemy to despair.

Jennie’s voluminous hair, without being exactly golden, was--as the poets might term it--the colour of ripe corn, and was distractingly fluffy at the temples. Her eyes were liquidly, bewitchingly black, of melting tenderness, and yet, upon occasion, they would harden into piercing orbs that could look right through a man, and seem to fathom his innermost thoughts. A smooth, creamy complexion, with a touch of red in the cheeks, helped to give this combination of blonde and brunette an appearance so charmingly striking that it may be easily understood she was not a girl to be passed by with a single glance. Being so favoured by nature, Jennie did not neglect the aid of art, and it must be admitted that most of her income was expended in seeing that her wardrobe contained the best that Paris could supply; and the best in this instance was not necessarily the most expensive--at least not as expensive as such supplementing might have been to an ordinary woman, for Jennie wrote those very readable articles on the latest fashionable gowns which have appeared in some of the ladies’ weeklies, and it was generally supposed that this fact did not cause her own replenishing from the _modistes_ she so casually mentioned in her writings to be more expensive than her purse could afford. Be that as it may, Miss Baxter was always most becomingly attired, and her whole effect was so entrancing that men have been known to turn in the street as she passed, and murmur, “By Jove!” a phrase that, when you take into account the tone in which it is said, represents the furthermost point of admiration which the limited vocabulary of a man about town permits him to utter; and it says something for the honesty of Jennie’s black eyes, and the straightforwardness of her energetic walk, that none of these momentary admirers ever turned and followed her.

On this occasion Miss Jennie had paid more than usual attention to her toilette, for she was about to set out to capture a man, and the man was no other than Radnor Hardwick, the capable editor of the _Daily Bugle_, which was considered at that moment to be the most enterprising morning journal in the great metropolis. Miss Baxter had done work for some of the evening papers, several of the weeklies, and a number of the monthlies, and the income she made was reasonably good, but hazardously fitful. There was an uncertainty about her mode of life which was displeasing to her, and she resolved, if possible, to capture an editor on one of the morning papers, and get a salary that was fixed and secure. That it should be large was a matter of course, and pretty Miss Jennie had quite enough confidence in herself to believe she would earn every penny of it. Quite sensibly, she depended upon her skill and her industry as her ultimate recommendation to a large salary, but she was woman enough to know that an attractive appearance might be of some assistance to her in getting a hearing from the editor, even though he should prove on acquaintance to be a man of iron, which was tolerably unlikely. She glanced at the dainty little watch attached to her wristlet, and saw that it lacked a few minutes of five. She knew the editor came to his office shortly after three, and remained there until six or half-past, when he went out to dine, returning at ten o’clock, or earlier, when the serious work of arranging next day’s issue began. She had not sent a note to him, for she knew if she got a reply it would be merely a request for particulars as to the proposed interview, and she had a strong faith in the spoken word, as against that which is written. At five o’clock the editor would have read his letters, and would probably have seen most of those who were waiting for him, and Miss Baxter quite rightly conjectured that this hour would be more appropriate for a short conversation than when he was busy with his correspondence, or immersed in the hard work of the day, as he would be after ten o’clock at night. She had enough experience of the world to know that great matters often depend for their success on apparent trivialities, and the young woman had set her mind on becoming a member of the _Daily Bugle_ staff.

She stepped lightly into the hansom that was waiting for her, and said to the cabman, “Office of the _Daily Bugle_, please; side entrance.”

The careful toilette made its first impression upon the surly-looking Irish porter, who, like a gruff and faithful watch-dog, guarded the entrance to the editorial rooms of the _Bugle_. He was enclosed in a kind of glass-framed sentry-box, with a door at the side, and a small arched aperture that was on a level with his face as he sat on a high stool. He saw to it, not too politely, that no one went up those stairs unless he had undoubted right to do so. When he caught a glimpse of Miss Baxter, he slid off the stool and came out of the door to her, which was an extraordinary concession to a visitor, for Pat Ryan contented himself, as a usual thing, by saying curtly that the editor was busy, and could see no one.

“What did you wish, miss? To see the editor? That’s Mr. Hardwick. Have ye an appointment with him? Ye haven’t; then I very much doubt if ye’ll see him this day, mum. It’s far better to write to him, thin ye can state what ye want, an’ if he makes an appointment there’ll be no throuble at all, at all.”

“But why should there be any trouble now?” asked Miss Baxter. “The editor is here to transact business, just as you are at the door to do the same. I have come on business, and I want to see him. Couldn’t you send up my name to Mr. Hardwick, and tell him I will keep him but a few moments?”

“Ah, miss, that’s what they all say; they ask for a few moments an’ they shtay an hour. Not that there’d be any blame to an editor if he kept you as long as he could. An’ it’s willing I’d be to take up your name, but I’m afraid that it’s little good it ‘ud be after doin’ ye. There’s more than a dozen men in the waitin’-room now, an’ they’ve been there for the last half-hour. Not a single one I’ve sent up has come down again.”

“But surely,” said Miss Jennie, in her most coaxing tone, “there must be some way to see even such a great man as the editor, and if there is, you know the way.”

“Indade, miss, an’ I’m not so sure there is a way, unless you met him in the strate, which is unlikely. As I’ve told ye, there’s twelve men now waitin’ for him in the big room. Beyont that room there’s another one, an’ beyont that again is Mr. Hardwick’s office. Now, it’s as much as my place is worth, mum, to put ye in that room beyont the one where the men are waitin’; but, to tell you the truth, miss,” said the Irishman, lowering his voice, as if he were divulging office secrets, “Mr. Hardwick, who is a difficult man to deal with, sometimes comes through the shmall room, and out into the passage whin he doesn’t want to see anyone at all, at all, and goes out into the strate, leavin’ everybody waitin’ for him. Now I’ll put ye into this room, and if the editor tries to slip out, then ye can speak with him; but if he asks ye how ye got there, for the sake of hiven don’t tell him I sint ye, because that’s not my duty at all, at all.”

“Indeed, I won’t tell him how I got there; or, rather, I’ll say I came there by myself; so all you need to do is to show me the door, and there won’t need to be any lies told.

“True for ye, an’ a very good idea. Well, miss, then will ye just come up the stairs with me? It’s the fourth door down the passage.”

Miss Jennie beamed upon the susceptible Irishman a look of such melting gratitude that the man, whom bribery had often attempted to corrupt in vain, was her slave for ever after. They went up the stairs together, at the head of which the porter stood while Miss Baxter went down the long passage and stopped at the right door; Ryan nodded and disappeared.

Miss Baxter opened the door softly and entered. She found the room not too brilliantly lighted, containing a table and several chairs. The door to the right hand, which doubtless led into the waiting-room, where the dozen men were patiently sitting, was closed. The opposite door, which led into Mr. Hardwick’s office, was partly open. Miss Baxter sat down near the third door, the one by which she had entered from the passage, ready to intercept the flying editor, should he attempt to escape.

In the editor’s room someone was walking up and down with heavy footfall, and growling in a deep voice that was plainly audible where Miss Jennie sat. “You see, Alder, it’s like this,” said the voice. “Any paper may have a sensation every day, if it wishes; but what I want is accuracy, otherwise our sheet has no real influence. When an article appears in the _Bugle_, I want our readers to understand that that article is true from beginning to end. I want not only sensation, but definiteness and not only definiteness, but absolute truth.”

“Well, Mr. Hardwick,” interrupted another voice--the owner of which was either standing still or sitting in a chair, so far as Miss Baxter could judge by the tone, while the editor uneasily paced to and fro--“what Hazel is afraid of is that when this blows over he will lose his situation--”

“But,” interjected the editor, “no one can be sure that he gave the information. No one knows anything about this but you and I, and we will certainly keep our mouths shut.”

“What Hazel fears is that the moment we print the account, the Board of Public Construction will know he gave away the figures, because of their accuracy. He says that if we permit him to make one or two blunders, which will not matter in the least in so far as the general account goes, it will turn suspicion from him. It will be supposed that someone had access to the books, and in the hurry of transcribing figures had made the blunders, which they know he would not do, for he has a reputation for accuracy.”

“Quite so,” said the editor; “and it is just that reputation--for accuracy--that I want to gain for the _Daily Bugle_. Don’t you think the truth of it is that the man wants more money?”

“Who? Hazel?”

“Certainly. Does he imagine that he could get more than fifty pounds elsewhere?”

“Oh, no; I’m sure the money doesn’t come into the matter at all. Of course he wants the fifty pounds, but he doesn’t want to lose his situation on the Board of Public Construction in the getting of it.”

“Where do you meet this man, at his own house, or in his office at the Board?”

“Oh, in his own house, of course.”

“You haven’t seen the books, then?”

“No; but he has the accounts all made out, tabulated beautifully, and has written a very clear statement of the whole transaction. You understand, of course, that there has been no defalcation, no embezzlement, or anything of that sort. The accounts as a whole balance perfectly, and there isn’t a penny of the public funds wrongly appropriated. All the Board has done is to juggle with figures so that each department seems to have come out all right, whereas the truth is that some departments have been carried on at a great profit, while with others there has been a loss. The object obviously has been to deceive the public and make it think that all the departments are economically conducted.”

“I am sorry money hasn’t been stolen,” said the editor generously, “then we would have had them on the hip; but, even as it is, the _Bugle_ will make a great sensation. What I fear is that the opposition press will seize on those very inaccuracies, and thus try to throw doubt on the whole affair. Don’t you think that you can persuade this person to let us have the information intact, without the inclusion of those blunders he seems to insist on? I wouldn’t mind paying him a little more money, if that is what he is after.”

“I don’t think that is his object. The truth is, the man is frightened, and grows more and more so as the day for publication approaches. He is so anxious about his position that he insisted he was not to be paid by cheque, but that I should collect the money and hand it over to him in sovereigns.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what to do, Alder. We mustn’t seem too eager. Let the matter rest where it is until Monday. I suppose he expects you to call upon him again to-day?”

“Yes; I told him I should be there at seven.”

“Don’t go, and don’t write any explanation. Let him transfer a little of his anxiety to the fear of losing his fifty pounds. I want, if possible, to publish this information with absolute accuracy.”

“Is there any danger, Mr. Hardwick, that some of the other papers may get on the track of this?”

“No, I don’t think so; not for three days, anyway. If we appear too eager, this man Hazel may refuse us altogether.”

“Very good, sir.”

Miss Baxter heard the editor stop in his walk, and she heard the rustling of paper, as if the subordinate were gathering up some documents on which he had been consulting his chief. She was panic-stricken to think that either of the men might come out and find her in the position of an eavesdropper, so with great quietness she opened the door and slipped out into the hall, going from there to the entrance of the ordinary waiting-room, in which she found, not the twelve men that the porter had expatiated upon, but five. Evidently the other seven had existed only in the porter’s imagination, or had become tired of waiting and had withdrawn. The five looked up at her as she entered and sat down on a chair near the door. A moment later the door communicating with the room she had quitted opened, and a clerk came in. He held two or three slips of paper in his hand, and calling out a name, one of the men rose.

“Mr. Hardwick says,” spoke up the clerk, “that this matter is in Mr. Alder’s department; would you mind seeing him? Room number five.”

So that man was thus got rid of. The clerk mentioned another name, and again a man rose.

“Mr. Hardwick,” the clerk said, “has the matter under consideration. Call again to-morrow at this hour, then he will give you his decision.”

That got rid of number two. The third man was asked to leave his name and address; the editor would write to him. Number four was told that if he would set down his proposition in writing, and send it in to Mr. Hardwick, it would have that gentleman’s serious consideration. The fifth man was not so easily disposed of. He insisted upon seeing the editor, and presently disappeared inside with the clerk. Miss Baxter smiled at the rapid dispersion of the group, for it reminded her of the rhyme about the one little, two little, three little nigger-boys. But all the time there kept running through her mind the phrase, “Board of Public Construction,” and the name, “Hazel.”

After a few minutes, the persistent man who had insisted upon seeing the editor came through the general waiting-room, the secretary, or clerk, or whoever he was, following him.

“Has your name been sent in, madam?” the young man asked Miss Baxter, as she rose. “I think not,” answered the girl. “Would you take my card to Mr. Hardwick, and tell him I will detain him but a few moments?”

In a short time the secretary reappeared, and held the door open for her.

CHAPTER II. JENNIE HAS IMPORTANT CONFERENCES WITH TWO IMPORTANT EDITORS.

Mr. Hardwick was a determined-looking young man of about thirty-five, with a bullet head and closely-cropped black hair. He looked like a stubborn, strong-willed person, and Miss Baxter’s summing up of him was that he had not the appearance of one who could be coaxed or driven into doing anything he did not wish to do. He held her card between his fingers, and glanced from it to her, then down to the card again.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hardwick,” began Miss Baxter. “I don’t know that you have seen any of my work, but I have written a good deal for some of the evening papers and for several of the magazines.”

“Yes,” said Hardwick, who was standing up preparatory to leaving his office, and who had not asked the young woman to sit down; “your name is familiar to me. You wrote, some months since, an account of a personal visit to the German Emperor; I forget now where it appeared.”

“Oh, yes,” said Miss Baxter; “that was written for the _Summer Magazine_, and was illustrated by photographs.”

“It struck me,” continued Hardwick, without looking at her, “that it was an article written by a person who had never seen the German Emperor, but who had collected and assimilated material from whatever source presented itself.”

The young woman, in nowise abashed, laughed; but still the editor did not look up.

“Yes,” she admitted, “that is precisely how it was written. I never have had the pleasure of meeting William II. myself.”

“What I have always insisted upon in work submitted to me,” growled the editor in a deep voice, “is absolute accuracy. I take it that you have called to see me because you wish to do some work for this paper.”

“You are quite right in that surmise also,” answered Miss Jennie. “Still, if I may say so, there was nothing inaccurate in my article about the German Emperor. My compilation was from thoroughly authentic sources, so I maintain it was as truthfully exact as anything that has ever appeared in the _Bugle_.”

“Perhaps our definitions of truth might not quite coincide. However, if you will write your address on this card I will wire you if I have any work--that is, any outside work--which I think a woman can do. The woman’s column of the _Bugle_, as you are probably aware, is already in good hands.”

Miss Jennie seemed annoyed that all her elaborate preparations were thrown away on this man, who never raised his eyes nor glanced at her, except once, during their conversation.

“I do not aspire,” she said, rather shortly, “to the position of editor of a woman’s column. I never read a woman’s column myself, and, unlike Mr. Grant Allen, I never met a woman who did.”

She succeeded in making the editor lift his eyes towards her for the second time.

“Neither do I intend to leave you my address so that you may send a wire to me if you have anything that you think I can do. What I wish is a salaried position on your staff.”

“My good woman,” said the editor brusquely, “that is utterly impossible. I may tell you frankly that I don’t believe in women journalists. The articles we publish by women are sent to this office from their own homes. Anything that a woman can do for a newspaper I have men who will do quite as well, if not better; and there are many things that women can’t do at all which men must do. I am perfectly satisfied with my staff as it stands, Miss Baxter.”

“I think it is generally admitted,” said the young woman, “that your staff is an exceptionally good one, and is most capably led. Still, I should imagine that there are many things happening in London, society functions, for instance, where a woman would describe more accurately what she saw than any man you could send. You have no idea how full of blunders a man’s account of women’s dress is as a general rule, and if you admire accuracy as much as you say, I should think you would not care to have your paper made a laughing-stock among society ladies, who never take the trouble to write you a letter and show you where you are wrong, as men usually do when some mistake regarding their affairs is made.”

“There is probably something in what you say,” replied the editor, with an air of bringing the discussion to a close. “I don’t insist that I am right, but these are my ideas, and while I am editor of this paper I shall stand by them, so it is useless for us to discuss the matter any further, Miss Baxter. I will not have a woman as a member of the permanent staff of the _Bugle_.”

For the third time he looked up at her, and there was dismissal in his glance.

Miss Baxter said indignantly to herself, “This brute of a man hasn’t the slightest idea that I am one of the best dressed women he has ever met.”

But there was no trace of indignation in her voice when she said to him sweetly, “We will take that as settled. But if upon some other paper, Mr. Hardwick, I should show evidence of being as good a newspaper reporter as any member of your staff, may I come up here, and, without being kept waiting too long, tell you of my triumph?”

“You would not shake my decision,” he said.

“Oh, don’t say that,” she murmured, with a smile. “I am sure you wouldn’t like it if anyone called you a fool.”

“Called me a fool?” said the editor sharply, drawing down his dark brows. “I shouldn’t mind it in the least.”

“What, not if it were true? You know it would be true, if I could do something that all your clever men hadn’t accomplished. An editor may be a very talented man, but, after all, his mission is to see that his paper is an interesting one, and that it contains, as often as possible, something which no other sheet does.”

“Oh, I’ll see to that,” Mr. Hardwick assured her with resolute confidence.

“I am certain you will,” said Miss Baxter very sweetly; “but now you won’t refuse to let me in whenever I send up my card? I promise you that I shall not send it until I have done something which will make the whole staff of the _Daily Bugle_ feel very doleful indeed.”

For the first time Mr. Hardwick gave utterance to a somewhat harsh and mirthless laugh.

“Oh, very well,” he said, “I’ll promise that.”

“Thank you! And good afternoon, Mr. Hardwick. I am _so_ much obliged to you for consenting to see me. I shall call upon you at this hour to-morrow afternoon.”

There was something of triumph in her smiling bow to him, and as she left she heard a long whistle of astonishment in Mr. Hardwick’s room. She hurried down the stairs, threw a bewitching glance at the Irish porter, who came out of his den and whispered to her,--

“It’s all right, is it, mum?”

“More than all right,” she answered. “Thank you very much indeed for your kindness.”

The porter preceded her out to the waiting hansom and held his arm so that her skirt would not touch the wheel.

“Drive quickly to the Cafe Royal,” she said to the cabman.

When the hansom drew up in front of the Cafe Royal, Miss Jennie Baxter did not step put of it, but waited until the stalwart servitor in gold lace, who ornamented the entrance, hurried from the door to the vehicle. “Do you know Mr. Stoneham?” she asked with suppressed excitement, “the editor of the _Evening Graphite_? He is usually here playing dominoes with somebody about this hour.”

“Oh yes, I know him,” was the reply. “I think he is inside at this moment, but I will make certain.”

In a short time Mr. Stoneham himself appeared, looking perhaps a trifle disconcerted at having his whereabouts so accurately ascertained.

“What a blessing it is,” said Miss Jennie, with a laugh, “that we poor reporters know where to find our editors in a case of emergency.”

“This is no case of emergency, Miss Baxter,” grumbled Stoneham. “If it’s news, you ought to know that it is too late to be of any use for us to-day.”

“Ah, yes,” was the quick reply, “but what excellent time I am in with news for to-morrow!”

“If a man is to live a long life,” growled the disturbed editor, “he must allow to-morrow’s news to look after itself. Sufficient for the day are the worries thereof.”

“As a general rule that is true,” assented the girl, “but I have a most important piece of information for you that wouldn’t wait, and in half an hour from now you will be writing your to-morrow’s leader, showing forth in terse and forcible language the many iniquities of the Board of Public Construction.”

“Oh,” cried the editor, brightening, “if it is anything to the discredit of the Board of Public Construction, I am glad you came.”

“Well, that’s not a bit complimentary to me. You should be glad in any case; but I’ll forgive your bad manners, as I wish you to help me. Please step into this hansom, because I have most startling intelligence to impart--news that must not be overheard; and there is no place so safe for a confidential conference as in a hansom driving through the streets of London. Drive slowly towards the _Evening Graphite_ office,”
she said to the cabman, pushing up the trap-door in the roof of the vehicle. Mr. Stoneham took his place beside her, and the cabman turned his horse in the direction indicated.

“There is little use in going to the office of the paper,” said Stoneham; “there won’t be anybody there but the watchman.”

“I know, but we must go in some direction. We can’t talk in front of the Café Royal, you know. Now, Mr. Stoneham, in the first place, I want fifty golden sovereigns. How am I to get them within half an hour?”

“Good gracious! I don’t know; the banks are all closed, but there is a man at Charing Cross who would perhaps change a cheque for me; there is a cheque-book at the office.”

“Then that’s all right and settled. Mr. Stoneham, there’s been some juggling with the accounts in the office of the Board of Public Construction.”

“What! a defalcation?” cried Stoneham eagerly.

“No; merely a shifting round.”

“Ah,” said the editor, in a disappointed tone.

“Oh, you needn’t say ‘Ah.’ It’s very serious; it is indeed. The accounts are calculated to deceive the dear and confiding public, to whose interests all the daily papers, morning and evening, pretend to be devoted. The very fact of such deception being attempted, Mr. Stoneham, ought to call forth the anger of any virtuous editor.”

“Oh, it does, it does; but then it would be a difficult matter to prove. If some money were gone, now----”

“My dear sir, the matter is already proved, and quite ripe for your energetic handling of it; that’s what the fifty pounds are for. This sum will secure for you--to-night, mind, not to-morrow--a statement bristling with figures which the Board of Construction cannot deny. You will be able, in a stirring leading article, to express the horror you undoubtedly feel at the falsification of the figures, and your stern delight in doing so will probably not be mitigated by the fact that no other paper in London will have the news, while the matter will be so important that next day all your beloved contemporaries will be compelled to allude to it in some shape or other.”

“I see,” said the editor, his eyes glistening as the magnitude of the idea began to appeal more strongly to his imagination. “Who makes this statement, and how are we to know that it is absolutely correct?”

“Well, there is a point on which I wish to inform you before going any further. The statement is not to be absolutely correct; two or three errors have been purposely put in, the object being to throw investigators off the track if they try to discover who gave the news to the Press; for the man who will sell me this document is a clerk in the office of the Board of Public Construction. So, you see, you are getting the facts from the inside.”

“Is he so accustomed to falsifying accounts that he cannot get over the habit even when preparing an article for the truthful Press?”

“He wants to save his own situation, and quite rightly too, so he has put a number of errors in the figures of the department over which he has direct control. He has a reputation for such accuracy that he imagines the Board will never think he did it, if the figures pertaining to his department are wrong even in the slightest degree.”

“Quite so. Then we cannot have the pleasure of mentioning his name, and saying that this honest man has been corrupted by his association with the scoundrels who form the Board of Public Construction?”

“Oh, dear, no; his name must not be mentioned in any circumstances, and that is why payment is to be made in sovereigns rather than by bank cheque or notes.”

“Well, the traitor seems to be covering up his tracks rather effectually. How did you come to know him?”

“I don’t know him. I’ve never met him in my life; but it came to my knowledge that one of the morning papers had already made all its plans for getting this information. The clerk was to receive fifty pounds for the document, but the editor and he are at present negotiating, because the editor insists upon absolute accuracy, while, as I said, the man wishes to protect himself, to cover his tracks, as you remarked.”

“Good gracious!” cried Stoneham, “I didn’t think the editor of any morning paper in London was so particular about the accuracy of what he printed. The pages of the morning sheets do not seem to reflect that anxiety.”

“So, you see,” continued Miss Jennie, unheeding his satirical comment, “there is no time to be lost; in fact, I should be on my way now to where this man lives.”

“Here we are at the office, and I shall just run in and write a cheque for fifty pounds, which we can perhaps get cashed somewhere,” cried the editor, calling the hansom to a halt and stepping out.

“Tell the watchman to bring me a London Directory,” said the girl, and presently that useful guardian came out with the huge red volume, which Miss Baxter placed on her knees, and, with a celerity that comes of long practice, turned over the leaves rapidly, running her finger quickly down the H column, in which the name “Hazel” was to be found. At last she came to one designated as being a clerk in the office of the Board of Public Construction, and his residence was 17, Rupert Square, Brixton. She put this address down in her notebook and handed back the volume to the waiting watchman, as the editor came out with the cheque in his hand.

The shrewd and energetic dealer in coins, whose little office stands at the exit from Charing Cross Station, proved quite willing to oblige the editor of the _Evening Graphite_ with fifty sovereigns in exchange for the bit of paper, and the editor, handing to Miss Jennie the envelope containing the gold, saw her drive off for Brixton, while he turned, not to resume his game of dominoes at the café, but to his office, to write the leader which would express in good set terms the horror he felt at the action of the Board of Public Construction.

CHAPTER III. JENNIE INTERVIEWS A FRIGHTENED OFFICIAL. It was a little past seven o’clock when Miss Baxter’s hansom drove up to the two-storeyed house in Rupert Square numbered 17. She knocked at the door, and it was speedily opened by a man with some trace of anxiety on his clouded face, who proved to be Hazel himself, the clerk at the Board of Public Construction. “You are Mr. Hazel?” she ventured, on entering.

“Yes,” replied the man, quite evidently surprised at seeing a lady instead of the man he was expecting at that hour; “but I am afraid I shall have to ask you to excuse me; I am waiting for a visitor who is a few minutes late, and who may be here at any moment.”

“You are waiting for Mr. Alder, are you not?”

“Yes,” stammered the man, his expression of surprise giving place to one of consternation.

“Oh, well, that is all right,” said Miss Jennie, reassuringly. “I have just driven from the office of the _Daily Bugle_. Mr. Alder cannot come to-night.”

“Ah,” said Hazel, closing the door. “Then are you here in his place?”

“I am here instead of him. Mr. Alder is on other business that he had to attend to at the editor’s request. Now, Mr. Hardwick--that’s the editor, you know----”

“Yes, I know,” answered Hazel.

They were by this time seated in the front parlour.

“Well, Mr. Hardwick is very anxious that the figures should be given with absolute accuracy.”

“Of course, that would be much better,” cried the man; “but, you see, I have gone thoroughly into the question with Mr. Alder already. He said he would mention what I told him to the editor--put my position before him, in fact.”

“Oh, he has done so,” said Miss Baxter, “and did it very effectively indeed; in fact, your reasons are quite unanswerable. You fear, of course, that you will lose your situation, and that is very important, and no one in the _Bugle_ office wishes you to suffer for what you have done. Of course, it is all in the public interest.”

“Of course, of course,” murmured Hazel, looking down on the table.

“Well, have you all the documents ready, so that they can be published at any time?”

“Quite ready,” answered the man.

“Very well,” said the girl, with decision; “here are your fifty pounds. Just count the money, and see that it is correct. I took the envelope as it was handed to me, and have not examined the amount myself.”

She poured the sovereigns out on the table, and Hazel, with trembling fingers, counted them out two by two.

“That is quite right,” he said, rising. He went to a drawer, unlocked it, and took out a long blue envelope.

“There,” he said, with a sigh that was almost a gasp. “There are the figures, and a full explanation of them. You will be very careful that my name does not slip out in any way.”

“Certainly,” said Miss Jennie, coolly drawing forth the papers from their covering. “No one knows your name except Mr. Alder, Mr. Hardwick, and myself; and I can assure you that I shall not mention it to anyone.”

She glanced rapidly over the documents.

“I shall just read what you have written,” she said, looking up at him; “and if there is anything here I do not understand you will, perhaps, be good enough to explain it now,--and then I won’t need to come here again.”

“Very well,” said Hazel. The man had no suspicion that his visitor was not a member of the staff of the paper he had been negotiating with. She was so thoroughly self-possessed, and showed herself so familiar with all details which had been discussed by Alder and himself that not the slightest doubt had entered the clerk’s mind.

Jennie read the documents with great haste, for she knew she was running a risk in remaining there after seven o’clock. It might be that Alder would come to Brixton to let the man know the result of his talk with the editor, or Mr. Hardwick himself might have changed his mind, and instructed his subordinate to secure the papers. Nevertheless, there was no sign of hurry in Miss Jennie’s demeanour as she placed the papers back in their blue envelope and bade the anxious Hazel good-bye.

Once more in the hansom, she ordered the man to drive her to Charing Cross, and when she was ten minutes away from Rupert Square she changed her direction and desired him to take her to the office of the _Evening Graphite_, where she knew Mr. Stoneham would be busy with his leading article, and probably impatiently awaiting further details of the conspiracy he was to lay open before the public. A light was burning in the editorial rooms of the office of the _Evening Graphite_, always a suspicious thing in such an establishment, and well calculated to cause the editor of any rival evening paper to tremble, should he catch a glimpse of burning gas in a spot where the work of the day should be finished at latest by five o’clock. Light in the room of the evening journalist usually indicates that something important is on hand.

A glance at the papers Miss Baxter brought to him showed Mr. Stoneham that he had at least got the worth of his fifty pounds. There would be a fluttering in high places next day. He made arrangements before he left to have the paper issued a little earlier than was customary, calculating his time with exactitude, so that rival sheets could not have the news in their first edition, cribbed from the _Graphite_, and yet the paper would be on the street, with the newsboys shouting, “‘Orrible scandal,” before any other evening journal was visible. And this was accomplished the following day with a precision truly admirable.

Mr. Stoneham, with a craft worthy of all commendation, kept back from the early issue a small fraction of the figures that were in his possession, so that he might print them in the so-called fourth edition, and thus put upon the second lot of contents--bills sent out, in huge, startling black type, “Further Revelations of the Board of Construction Scandal;” and his scathing leading article, in which he indignantly demanded a Parliamentary inquiry into the conduct of the Board, was recognized, even by the friends of that public body, as having seriously shaken confidence in it. The reception of the news by the other evening papers was most flattering. One or two ignored it altogether, others alluded to it as a rumour, that it “alleged” so and so, and threw doubt on its truth, which was precisely what Mr. Stoneham wished them to do, as he was in a position to prove the accuracy of his statement.

Promptly, at five o’clock that afternoon a hansom containing Miss Jennie Baxter drove up to the side entrance of the _Daily Bugle_ office, and the young woman once more accosted the Irish porter, who again came out of his den to receive her.

“Miss Baxter?” said the Irishman, half by way of salutation, and half by way of inquiry. “Yes,” said the girl.

“Well, Mr. Hardwick left strict orders with me that if ye came, or, rather, that _whin_ ye came, I was to conduct ye right up to his room at once.”

“Oh, that is very satisfactory,” cried Miss Jennie, “and somewhat different from the state of things yesterday.”

“Indeed, and that’s very true,” said the porter, his voice sinking. “To-day is not like yesterday at all, at all. There’s been great ructions in this office, mum; although what it’s about, fly away with me if I know. There’s been ruunin’ back and forrad, an’ a plentiful deal of language used. The proprietor himself has been here, an’ he’s here now, an’ Mr. Alder came out a minute ago with his face as white as a sheet of paper. They do be sayin’,” added the porter, still further lowering his voice, and pausing on the stairway, “that Mr. Hardwick is not goin’ to be the editor any more, but that Mr. Alder is to take his place. Anyway, as far as I can tell, Mr. Hardwick an’ Mr. Alder have had a fine fall out, an’ one or other of them is likely to leave the paper.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” said Miss Jennie, also pausing on the stairs. “Is it so serious as all that?”

“Indeed it is, mum, an’ we none of us know where we’re standin’, at all, at all.”

The porter led the way to Mr. Hardwick’s room, and announced the visitor.

“Ask her to come in,” she heard the editor say, and the next instant the porter left them alone together.

“Won’t you sit down, Miss Baxter?” said Mr. Hardwick, with no trace of that anger in his voice which she had expected. “I have been waiting for you. You said you would be here at five, and I like punctuality. Without beating round the bush, I suppose I may take it for granted that the _Evening Graphite_ is indebted to you for what it is pleased to call the Board of Public Construction scandal?”

“Yes,” said the young woman, seating herself; “I came up to tell you that I procured for the _Graphite_ that interesting bit of information.”

“So I supposed. My colleague, Henry Alder, saw Hazel this afternoon at the offices of the Board. The good man Hazel is panic-stricken at the explosion he has caused, and is in a very nervous state of mind, more especially when he learned that his documents had gone to an unexpected quarter. Fortunately for him, the offices of the Board are thronged with journalists who want to get statements from this man or the other regarding the exposure, and so the visit of Alder to Hazel was not likely to be noticed or commented upon. Hazel gave a graphic description of the handsome young woman who had so cleverly wheedled the documents from him, and who paid him the exact sum agreed upon in the exact way that it was to have been paid. Alder had not seen you, and has not the slightest idea how the important news slipped through his fingers; but when he told me what had happened, I knew at once you were the goddess of the machine, therefore I have been waiting for you. May I be permitted to express the opinion that you didn’t play your cards at all well, Miss Baxter?”

“No? I think I played my cards very much better than you played yours, you know.”

“Oh, I am not instituting any comparison, and am not at all setting myself up as a model of strategy. I admit that, having the right cards in my hands, I played them exceedingly badly; but then, you understand, I thought I was sure of an exclusive bit of news.”

“No news is exclusive, Mr. Hardwick, until it is printed, and out in the streets, and the other papers haven’t got it.”

“That is very true, and has all the conciseness of an adage. I would like to ask, Miss Baxter, how much the _Graphite_ paid you for that article over and above the fifty pounds you gave to Hazel?”

“Oh! it wasn’t a question of money with me; the subject hasn’t even been discussed. Mr. Stoneham is not a generous paymaster, and that is why I desire to get on a paper which does not count the cost too closely. What I wished to do was to convince you that I would be a valuable addition to the _Bugle_ staff; for you seemed to be of opinion that the staff was already sufficient and complete.”

“Oh, my staff is not to blame in this matter; I alone am to blame in being too sure of my ground, and not realizing the danger of delay in such a case. But if you had brought the document to me, you would have found me by far your best customer. You would have convinced me quite as effectually as you have done now that you are a very alert young woman, and I certainly would have been willing to give you four or five times as much as the _Graphite_ will be able to pay.”

“To tell the truth, I thought of that as I stood here yesterday, but I saw you were a very difficult man to deal with or to convince, and I dared not take the risk of letting you know I had the news. You might very easily have called in Mr. Alder, told him that Hazel had given up the documents, and sent him flying to Brixton, where very likely the clerk has a duplicate set. It would have been too late to get the sensation into any other morning paper, and, even if it were not too late, you would have had something about the sensation in the _Bugle_, and so the victory would not have been as complete as it is now. No, I could not take such a risk. I thought it all out very carefully.”

“You credit us with more energy, Miss Baxter, than we possess. I can assure you that if you had come here at ten or eleven o’clock with the documents, I should have been compelled to purchase them from you. However, that is all past and done with, and there is no use in our saying anything more about it. I am willing to take all the blame for our defeat on my shoulders, but there are some other things I am not willing to do, and perhaps you are in a position to clear up a little misunderstanding that has arisen in this office. I suppose I may take it for granted that you overheard the conversation which took place between Mr. Alder and myself in this room yesterday afternoon?”

“Well,” said Miss Baxter, for the first time in some confusion, “I can assure you that I did not come here with the intention of listening to anything. I came into the next room by myself for the purpose of getting to see you as soon as possible. While not exactly a member of the staff of the _Evening Graphite_, that paper nevertheless takes about all the work I am able to do, and so I consider myself bound to keep my eyes and ears open on its behalf wherever I am.”

“Oh, I don’t want to censure you at all,” said Hardwick; “I merely wish to be certain how the thing was done. As I said, I am willing to take the blame entirely on my own shoulders. I don’t think I should have made use of information obtained in that way myself; still, I am not venturing to find fault with you for doing so.”

“To find fault with me!” cried Miss Jennie somewhat warmly, “that would be the pot calling the kettle black indeed. Why, what better were you? You were bribing a poor man to furnish you with statistics, which he was very reluctant to let you have; yet you overcame his scruples with money, quite willing that he should risk his livelihood, so long as you got the news. If you ask me, I don’t see very much difference in our positions, and I must say that if two men take the risk of talking aloud about a secret, with a door open leading to another room, which may be empty or may be not, then they are two very foolish persons.”

“Oh, quite so, quite so,” answered Hardwick soothingly. “I have already disclaimed the critical attitude. The point I wish to be sure of is this--you overheard the conversation between Alder and myself?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Would you be able to repeat it?”

“I don’t know that I could repeat it word for word, but I could certainly give the gist of it.”

“Would you have any objection to telling a gentleman whom I shall call in a moment, as nearly as possible what Alder said and what I said? I may add that the gentleman I speak of is Mr. Hempstead, and he is practically the proprietor of this paper. There has arisen between Mr. Alder and myself a slight divergence of memory, if I may call it so, and it seems that you are the only person who can settle the dispute.”

“I am perfectly willing to tell what I heard to anybody.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Hardwick pressed an electric button, and his secretary came in from another room.

“Would you ask Mr. Hempstead to step this way, if he is in his room?”

In a few minutes Mr. Hempstead entered, bowed somewhat stiffly towards the lady, but froze up instantly when he heard that she was the person who had given the Board of Public Construction scandal to the _Evening Graphite_.

“I have just this moment learned, Mr. Hempstead, that Miss Baxter was in the adjoining room when Alder and I were talking over this matter. She heard the conversation. I have not asked her to repeat it, but sent for you at once, and she says she is willing to answer any questions you may ask.”

“In that case, Mr. Hardwick, wouldn’t it be well to have Henry Alder here?”

“Certainly, if he is on the premises.” Then, turning to his secretary, he said, “Would you find out if Mr. Alder is in his room? Tell him Mr. Hempstead wishes to see him here.”

When Henry Alder came in, and the secretary had disappeared, Miss Baxter saw at once that she was in an unenviable situation, for it was quite evident the three men were scarcely on speaking terms with each other. Nothing causes such a state of tension in a newspaper office as the missing of a piece of news that is important.

“Perhaps it would be better,” suggested Hardwick, “if Miss Baxter would repeat the conversation as she heard it.”

“I don’t see the use of that,” said Mr. Hempstead. “There is only one point at issue. Did Mr. Alder warn Mr. Hardwick that by delay he would lose the publication of this report?”

“Hardly that,” answered the girl. “As I remember it, he said, ‘Isn’t there a danger that some other paper may get this?’ Mr. Hardwick replied, ‘I don’t think so. Not for three days, at least’; and then Mr. Alder said, ‘Very good,’ or ‘Very well,’ or something like that.”

“That quite tallies with my own remembrance,” assented Hardwick. “I admit I am to blame, but I decidedly say that I was not definitely warned by Mr. Alder that the matter would be lost to us.”

“I told you it would be lost if you delayed,” cried Alder, with the emphasis of an angry man, “and it _has_ been lost. I have been on the track of this for two weeks, and it is very galling to have missed it at the last moment through no fault of my own.”

“Still,” said Mr. Hempstead coldly, “your version of the conversation does not quite agree with what Miss Baxter says.”

“Oh, well,” said Alder, “I never pretended to give the exact words. I warned him, and he did not heed the warning.”

“You admit, then, that Miss Baxter’s remembrance of the conversation is correct?”

“It is practically correct. I do not ‘stickle’ about words.”

“But you did stickle about words an hour ago,” said Mr. Hempstead, with some severity. “There is a difference in positively stating that the item would be lost and in merely suggesting that it might be lost.”

“Oh, have it as you wish,” said Alder truculently. “It doesn’t matter in the least to me. It is very provoking to work hard for two weeks, and then have everything nullified by a foolish decision from the editor. However, as I have said, it doesn’t matter to me. I have taken service on the _Daily Trumpet_, and you may consider my place on the _Bugle_ vacant”--saying which, the irate Mr. Alder put his hat on his head and left the room.

Mr. Hempstead seemed distressed by the discussion, but, for the first time, Mr. Hardwick smiled grimly.

“I always insist on accuracy,” he said, “and lack of it is one of Alder’s failings.”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Hardwick, you have lost one of your best men. How are you going to replace him?” inquired the proprietor anxiously.

“There is little difficulty in replacing even the best man on any staff in London,” replied Hardwick, with a glance at Miss Baxter. “As this young lady seems to keep her wits about her when the welfare of her paper is concerned, I shall, if you have no objection, fill Henry Alder’s place with Miss Baxter?”

Mr. Hempstead arched his eyebrows a trifle, and looked at the girl in some doubt.

“I thought you didn’t believe in women journalists, Mr. Hardwick,” he murmured at last.

“I didn’t up till to-day, but since the evening papers came out I have had reason to change my mind. I should much rather have Miss Baxter for me than against me.”

“Do you think you can fill the position, Miss Baxter?” asked the proprietor, doubtingly.

“Oh, I, am sure of it,” answered the girl. “I have long wanted a place on a well-edited paper like the _Bugle_.” Again Mr. Hardwick smiled grimly. The proprietor turned to him, and said, “I don’t quite see, Mr. Hardwick, what a lady can do on this paper outside of the regular departments.”

“I hardly think there will be any trouble about that, Mr. Hempstead. For example, who could be better equipped to attempt the solution of that knotty question about the Princess von Steinheimer’s diamonds?”

“By Jove!” cried Hempstead, his eyes glittering with excitement. “That is an inspiration. I imagine that if anyone can unravel the mystery, it is Miss Baxter.”

CHAPTER IV. JENNIE LEARNS ABOUT THE DIAMONDS OF THE PRINCESS.

“What about the diamonds of the Princess?” asked Miss Baxter, her curiosity piqued by the remark of the editor.

“That is rather a long story,” replied Mr. Hardwick, “and before I begin it, I would like to ask you one or two questions. Can you manipulate a typewriter?”

“That depends on what make it is. The ordinary typewriter I understand very thoroughly.”

“Good. Have you any knowledge of shorthand?”

“A workable knowledge; I can write about one hundred words a minute.”

“Admirable! admirable! Your coming to this office was indeed an inspiration, as Mr. Hempstead remarked. You are just the person I have been looking for.”

“You didn’t seem to think so yesterday, Mr. Hardwick,” said the girl with a sly glance at him.

“Well, many things have happened since yesterday. We are now dealing with to-day, and with the Princess von Steinheimer.”

“She is a German princess, of course?”

“An Austrian princess, but an American woman. She was a Miss Briggs of Chicago; a daughter of Briggs, the railway millionaire, worth somewhere between twenty and twenty-five millions--dollars, of course. A year or two ago she married Prince Konrad von Steinheimer; you may remember having read about it in the papers?”

“Oh, yes; the usual international match--the girl after the title, he after the money.”

“I suppose so; but be that as it may, she is the only daughter of old Briggs, and had spent a good deal of her time in Europe, but she spent more than time; she spent the old man’s money as well, so during her stay in Europe she accumulated a vast stock of diamonds, some of them very notable stones. I don’t know what the whole collection is worth, some say a million dollars, while others say double that amount. However that may be, Miss Briggs became the Princess von Steinheimer, and brought to Austria with her a million dollars in gold and the diamonds, which her father gave as dowry; but, of course, being an only child, she will come in for the rest of his money when the railway magnate dies.”

“Is he likely to die soon? I don’t suppose the Prince gave himself away for a mere million.”

“Oh, you forget the diamonds. As to the likelihood of old Briggs’s death, it didn’t strike me as imminent when I had a conversation with him yesterday.”

“Yesterday? Is he here in London, then?”

“Yes; he has come over to disentangle the mystery about the diamonds.”

“And what is the mystery? You take a dreadful long time to tell a story, Mr. Hardwick.”

“The story is important, and it must be told in detail, otherwise you may go on a long journey for nothing. Are you taking down what I say in shorthand? That is right, and if you are wise you will not transcribe your notes so that anyone can read them; they are safer in that form. The von Steinheimer family have two residences, a house in Vienna and an ancient castle in the Tyrol, situated on the heights above Meran, a most picturesque place, I understand; but very shortly you will know more about it than I do, because the _Bugle_ expects you to go there as its special correspondent. Here the diamond robbery took place something like two months ago, and the affair is still as great a mystery as ever. The Princess was to open the season at Meran, which is a fashionable resort, by giving a fancy dress ball in Schloss Steinheimer, to which all the Austrian and foreign notables were invited. It was just before the ball began that the diamonds were first missed--in fact, the Princess was about to put them on, she representing some gorgeously decorated character from the Arabian Nights, when the discovery was made that the diamonds were gone. She was naturally very much upset over her loss, and sent at once for the Prince, her husband, insisting that the police should be notified immediately and detectives called in, as was perfectly natural. Now here comes a strange feature of the affair, and this is that the Prince positively forbade any publicity, refusing his sanction when she demanded that the police should be informed, and yet the Prince knew better than anyone else the very considerable value of the stones.”

“What reason did he give for his refusal?” asked Miss Baxter, looking up from her notes.

“I am not quite certain about that; but I think he said it was _infra dig._ for the Steinheimers to call in the police. Anyhow, it was an excuse which did not satisfy the Princess; but as guests were arriving, and as it was desirable that there should be no commotion to mar the occasion, the Princess temporarily yielded to the wish of her husband, and nothing was said publicly about the robbery. The great ball was the talk of Meran for several days, and no one suspected the private trouble that was going on underneath this notable event. During these several days the Princess insisted that the aid of the police should be invoked, and the Prince was equally strenuous that nothing should be said or done about the matter. Then, quite unexpectedly, the Prince veered completely round, and proclaimed that he would engage the best detectives in Europe. Strange to say, when he announced this decision to his wife, she had veered round also, and opposed the calling in of the detectives as strenuously as he had done heretofore.”

“What reason did she give for her change of front?” asked Miss Jennie.

“She said, I believe, that it was now too late; that the thieves, whoever they were, had had time to make away with their plunder, and there would merely be a fuss and worry for nothing.”

“Do you know, I am inclined to agree with her,” asserted the girl.

“Are you? Then tell me what you think of the case as far as you have got.”

“What do _you_ think?”

“I sha’n’t tell you at this stage, because I know of further particulars which I will give you later on. I merely want your opinion now, so that I may see whether what I have to tell you afterwards modifies it in any way.”

“Well, to me the case looks decidedly dark against the Prince.”

“That is what Mr. Briggs thinks. He imagines his Highness has the jewels.”

“Where did you get all these particulars?”

“From Mr. Briggs, who, of course, got them by letter from his daughter.”

“Then we have, as it were, a one-sided statement.”

“Oh, quite so; but still you must remember the Princess does not in the least suspect her husband of the theft.”

“Well, please go on. What are the further particulars?”

“The further particulars are that the Prince made some quiet investigations among the servants, and he found that there was a man who, although he was a friend of his own, was much more the friend of the Princess, and this man had, on the day the ball was given, the entire freedom of the castle. He is a young officer and nobleman. Lieutenant von Schaumberg, and the Prince knew that this young man was being hard pressed for some debts of honour which he did not appear to be in a position to liquidate. The young man went unexpectedly to Vienna the day after the ball, and on his return settled his obligations. The Princess, from one of her women, got word of her husband’s suspicion. She went to the Prince at once, and told him she had come to his own opinion with regard to the lost diamonds. She would, in no circumstances, have detectives about the place. Then he told her that he had also changed his mind, and resolved to engage detectives. So here they were at a deadlock again. She wrote to her father with great indignation about the Prince’s unjust suspicions, saying von Schaumberg was a gentleman in every sense of the word. I gather that relations between herself and her husband are somewhat strained, so I imagine there is much more in this matter than the lost diamonds.”

“You imagine, then, that she is shielding the Lieutenant?”

“Candidly, I do.”

“And you are of opinion he stole the diamonds?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I don’t agree with you. I still think it was the Prince, and I think besides this, that he dexterously managed to throw suspicion on the Lieutenant. Have they called in the detectives yet?”

“No, they are at a deadlock, as I remarked before.”

“Well, what am I expected to do?”

“Mr. Briggs cabled to his daughter--he never writes a letter--that he would come over and straighten out the tangle in fifteen minutes. He is certain the Prince stole the diamonds, but he did not tell his daughter so. He informed her he was bringing her a present of a new typewriting machine, and also a young woman from Chicago who could write shorthand and would look after the Princess’s correspondence--act as secretary, in fact; for it seems the Princess has a larger correspondence than she can reasonably attend to, and she appears therefore to yearn for a typewriter. The old man tells me she is very careless about her letters, never being able to find anything she wants, and leaving them about a good deal, so he thinks she needs someone to look after her affairs; and I have a suspicion that her father fears she may leave some compromising letter about, so he wishes to ward off a divorce case.”

“No, I fancy you are mistaken there. The father hasn’t the slightest idea that there can be anything wrong with his daughter. It is probable the Princess has written some libellous statements about her husband, and it is quite likely the Prince is a brute and that young von Schaumberg is a most charming person.”

“Well, as I was saying,” continued Hardwick, “the old man cabled his daughter that he is bringing her a secretary and a typewriter. He engaged a female Pinkerton detective to enter the castle as secretary to the Princess and, if possible, to solve the diamond mystery. She is a young woman who, when she left Chicago, was very anti-English, but she became acquainted on the steamer with a young Englishman who was tremendously taken with her, and so at Liverpool she quite calmly broke her engagement with the old man and fulfilled a new engagement she had made with the young man by promptly marrying him--special license, I am told. Old Briggs has therefore a new typewriting machine on his hands, and so I was going to propose to you that you take the place of the Chicago Pinkerton person. Briggs has become so disgusted with all these detective women that he abandoned the idea of sending a female detective with the machine, and doesn’t imagine that whoever is sent will be either a detective or a newspaper woman. I was introduced to him the other day by one of those lucky chances which sometimes put interesting items of news in our way, and he told me the whole story, requesting me to recommend someone who wrote shorthand and understood the typewriter. I am to dine with him this evening, and I shall cordially recommend you. I may say that Briggs has gone to that celebrated London detective Mr. Cadbury Taylor, and has engaged him to solve the diamond mystery. So you see you will have a clear field. If you can leave for the castle to-morrow night, you may have the pleasure of Mr. Cadbury Taylor’s company. He isn’t visiting the castle, but goes straight to Vienna; so if you work your cards rightly, you can be in the same carriage with him as far as Munich, and during that time you may find out perhaps what he thinks about the case. I know only this much about his theory, and that is he thinks the right place to begin is in Vienna, where some, at least, of the stones are supposed to have been pawned.”

“Oh, this is a delightful case, and I shall enjoy it. Has there been anything published yet with reference to the robbery?”

“Not a word; nobody knows anything about it, except the Prince and Princess, Briggs, myself and yourself, and perhaps one or two of the servants in the castle--oh, yes, and Cadbury Taylor.”

CHAPTER V. JENNIE MEETS A GREAT DETECTIVE.

Miss Baxter was early at the station before the Continental train left. She walked up and down the platform, hoping to see Mr. Cadbury Taylor, with whose face and form she was familiar. She secured a porter who spoke French, and pretended to him that she knew no English.

“I desire,” she said, “to get into a first-class compartment with a gentleman whom I shall point out to you. I shall give you five shillings, so you must let me have your whole attention. My luggage has been labelled and registered, therefore you will not need to bother about it, but keep your eye on me and follow me into whatever carriage I enter, bringing with you the hand-bag and this heavy package.”

The heavy package was a typewriter in its case. Shortly before the train departed, there sauntered into the station the tall, thin, well-known form of the celebrated detective. He wore a light ulster that reached almost to his heels, and his keen, alert face was entirely without beard or moustache. As he came up the platform, a short, stout man accosted him.

“I was afraid you were going to be late,” said the detective’s friend, “but I see you are just in time as usual.”

“A railway station,” said Mr. Cadbury Taylor, “is not the most inspiring place in London for the spending of a spare half hour; besides, I had some facts to get together, which are now tabulated in my note-book, and I’m quite ready to go, if the train is.”

“I have secured a smoking compartment here where we shall be alone.”

“That’s right, Smith,” said Cadbury Taylor. “You are always so thoughtful,” and the two men entered the compartment together.

Just as the guards were shouting, “Take your seats, please,” Miss Baxter made a bolt for the compartment in which the detective and his friend sat together in opposite corners.

“I beg your pardon,” said Smith, “this is a smoking compartment.” The lady replied to him volubly in French, and next instant the porter heaved the typewriter and hand-bag on the seat beside her. Smith seemed to resent the intrusion, and appeared about to blame the porter, but the man answered rapidly as he banged the door shut, “The lady doesn’t speak any English,” and the next moment the train moved out of the station.

“There was no need,” said the detective, “my dear Smith, to depend upon the porter for the information that the lady could not speak English. She is the secretary to a very rich employer in Chicago, and came from that city to New York, where she sailed on the _Servia_ alone, coming to England to transact some special business, of which I could here give you full particulars, if it were worth while. She came from Liverpool to London over the Great Western Railway, and is now on her way to Paris. All this, of course, is obvious to the most casual observer, and so, my dear Smith, we may discuss our case with as much security as though we were entirely alone.”

“But, good heavens, Cadbury!” cried Smith in amazement, “how can you tell all that?”

“My dear fellow,” said the detective wearily, “no one travels with a typewriting machine unless that person is a typewriter. The girl, if you will notice, is now engaged in filling the leaves of her book with shorthand, therefore that proves her occupation. That she is secretary to a rich man is evidenced by the fact that she crossed in the _Servia_ first cabin, as you may see by glancing at the label on the case; that she came alone, which is to say her employer was not with her, is indicated by the typewriter being marked ‘Not Wanted,’ so it was put down into the hold. If a Chicago business man had been travelling with his secretary, the typewriter case would have been labelled instead, ‘Cabin, wanted,’ for a Chicago man of business would have to write some hundreds of letters, even on the ocean, to be ready for posting the moment he came ashore. The typewriter case is evidently new, and is stamped with the name and address of its sellers in Chicago. That she came by the Great Western is shown by the fact that ‘Chester’ appears on still another label. That she has special business in England we may well believe, otherwise she would have crossed on the French line direct from New York to Havre. So you see, my dear boy, these are all matters of observation, and quite patent to anyone who cares to use his eyes.”

“Yes, it all seems very simple now that you have explained it,” growled Smith.

“I should be a much more mysterious person than I am,” remarked the detective complacently, “if I did not explain so much. This explanation habit is becoming a vice with me, and I fear I must abandon it.”

“I hope for my sake you won’t,” said Smith more good-naturedly, “for if left to myself I never could find out how you arrive at your wonderful conclusions. Do you expect the Austrian diamond mystery to prove difficult?”

“Difficult? Oh, dear no! To tell the truth, I have solved it already, but in order to give the American a run for his money--and surely he ought not to object to that, because he is a millionaire who has made his fortune by giving other people runs for their money, being a railway man--I am now on my way to Vienna. If I solved the problem off-hand for him in London, he would have no more appreciation of my talent than you had a moment ago when I explained why I knew this French girl came from Chicago.”

“You mustn’t mind that, Cadbury,” said Smith contritely. “I confess I was irritated for a moment because it all seemed so simple.”

“My dear fellow, every puzzle in this world is simple except one, and that is to find any problem which is difficult.”

“Then who stole the diamonds? The lieutenant?”

The detective smiled and gazed upwards for a few tantalizing moments at the roof of the carriage.

“Here we have,” he said at last, “an impecunious prince who marries an American heiress, as so many of them do. The girl begins life in Austria on one million dollars, say two hundred thousand pounds, and a case of diamonds said to be worth another two hundred thousand at least--probably more. Not much danger of running through that very speedily, is there, Smith?”

“No, I should think not.”

“So the average man would think,” continued the detective. “However, I have long since got out of the habit of thinking; therefore I make sure. The first problem I set to myself is this: How much money have the Prince and Princess spent since they were married? I find that the repairs on the Schloss Steinheimer, situated in the Tyrol, cost something like forty thousand pounds. It is a huge place, and the Steinheimers have not had an heiress in the family for many centuries. The Prince owed a good deal of money when he was married, and it took something like sixty thousand pounds to settle those debts; rather expensive as Continental princes go, but if one must have luxuries, one cannot save money. Not to weary you with details, I found that the two hundred thousand pounds were exhausted somewhat more than two months ago; in fact, just before the alleged robbery. The Prince is, of course, without money, otherwise he would not have married a Chicago heiress, and the Princess being without money, what does she naturally do?”

“Pawns her own diamonds!” cried Smith enthusiastically.

The detective smiled.

“I thought it much more probable she would apply to her father for money. I asked him if this was the case, giving him the date, roughly speaking, when such a letter had been sent. The old man opened his eyes at this, and told me he had received such a letter. ‘But you did not send the money?’ I ventured, ‘No,’ he said, ‘I did not. The fact is, money is very tight in Chicago just now, and so I cabled her to run on her debts for a while.’ This exactly bore out the conclusion at which I had already arrived. So now, having failed to get money from her father, the lady turns to her diamonds, the only security she possesses. The chances are that she did so before her father’s cable message came, and that was the reason she so confidently wished information to be given to the police. She expected to have money to redeem her jewels, and being a bright woman, she knew the traditional stupidity of the official police, and so thought there was no danger of her little ruse being discovered. But when the cable message came saying no money would be sent her, a different complexion was put upon the whole affair, for she did not know but if the police were given plenty of time they might stumble on the diamonds.”

“But, my dear Cadbury, why should she not have taken the diamonds openly and raised money on them?”

“My dear fellow, there are a dozen reasons, any one of which will suffice where a woman is in the case. In the first place, she might fear to offend the family pride of the von Steinheimers; in the second place, we cannot tell what her relations with her husband were. She may not have wished him to know that she was short of money. But that she has stolen her own diamonds there is not the slightest question in my mind. All that is necessary for me to do now is to find out how many persons there are in Vienna who would lend large sums of money on valuable jewels. The second is to find with which one of those the Princess pawned her diamonds.”

“But, my dear Cadbury, the lady is in Meran, and Vienna is some hundreds of miles away. How could a lady in the Tyrol pawn diamonds in Vienna without her absence being commented on? or do you think she had an agent to do it for her?” Again the detective smiled indulgently.

“No, she had no agent. The diamonds never left Vienna. You see, the ball had been announced, and immediate money was urgently needed. She pawned the diamonds before she left the capital of Austria, and the chances are she did not intend anyone to know they were missing; but on the eve of the ball her husband insisted that she should wear her diamonds, and therefore, being a quick-witted woman, she announced they had been stolen. After having made such a statement, she, of course, had to stick to it; and now, failing to get the money from America, she is exceedingly anxious that no real detective shall be employed in investigation.”

At Dover Miss Baxter, having notes of this interesting conversation in shorthand, witnessed the detective bid good-bye to his friend Smith, who returned to London by a later train. After that she saw no more of Mr. Cadbury Taylor, and reached the Schloss Steinheimer at Meran without further adventure.

CHAPTER VI. JENNIE SOLVES THE DIAMOND MYSTERY.

Miss Baxter found life at the Schloss much different from what she had expected. The Princess was a young and charming lady, very handsome, but in a state of constant depression. Once or twice Miss Baxter came upon her with apparent traces of weeping on her face. The Prince was not an old man, as she had imagined, but young and of a manly, stalwart appearance. He evidently possessed a fiendish temper, and moped about the castle with a constant frown upon his brow.

The correspondence of the Princess was in the utmost disorder. There were hundreds upon hundreds of letters, and Miss Baxter set to work tabulating and arranging them. Meanwhile the young newspaper woman kept her eyes open. She wandered about the castle unmolested, poked into odd corners, talked with the servants, and, in fact, with everyone, but never did she come upon a clue which promised to lead to a solution of the diamond difficulty. Once she penetrated into a turret room, and came unexpectedly upon the Prince, who was sitting on the window-ledge, looking absently out on the broad and smiling valley that lay for miles below the castle. He sprang to his feet and stared so fiercely at the intruder that the girl’s heart failed her, and she had not even the presence of mind to turn and run.

“What do you want?” he said to her shortly, for he spoke English perfectly. “You are the young woman from Chicago, I suppose?”

“No,” answered Miss Baxter, forgetting for the moment the _role_ she was playing; “I am from London.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter; you are the young woman who is arranging my wife’s correspondence?”

“Yes.” The Prince strode rapidly forward and grasped her by the wrist, his brow dark with a forbidding frown. He spoke in a hoarse whisper:

“Listen, my good girl! Do you want to get more money from me than you will get from the Princess in ten years’ service? Hearken, then, to what I tell you. If there are any letters from--from--men, will you bring them to me?”

Miss Baxter was thoroughly frightened, but she said to the Prince sharply,--

“If you do not let go my wrist, I’ll scream. How dare you lay your hand on me?”

The Prince released her wrist and stepped back.

“Forgive me,” he said; “I’m a very miserable man. Forget what I have said.”

“How can I forget it?” cried the girl, gathering courage as she saw him quail before her blazing eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to bring to me any letters written by--by----”

“Written by von Schaumberg,” cried the girl, noticing his hesitation and filling in the blank.

A red wave of anger surged up in the Prince’s face.

“Yes,” he cried; “bring me a letter to her from von Schaumberg, and I’ll pay you what you ask.”

The girl laughed.

“Prince,” she said, “you will excuse me if I call you a fool. There are no letters from von Schaumberg, and I have gone through the whole of the correspondence.”

“What, then, suggested the name von Schaumberg to you? Where did you ever hear it before?”

“I heard that you suspected him of stealing the diamonds.”

“And so he did, the cowardly thief. If it were not for mixing the Princess’s name with such carrion as he, I would--”

But the Prince in his rage stamped up and down the room without saying what he would do. Miss Baxter quickly brought him to a standstill.

“It is contrary to my duty to the Princess,” she began, hesitatingly, when he stopped and turned fiercely upon her.

“What is contrary to your duty?”

“There are letters, tied very daintily with a blue ribbon, and they are from a man. The Princess did not allow me to read them, but locked them away in a secret drawer in her dressing-room, but she is so careless with her keys and everything else, that I am sure I can get them for you, if you want them.”

“Yes, yes, I want them,” said the Prince, “and will pay you handsomely for them.”

“Very well,” replied Miss Baxter, “you shall have them. If you will wait here ten minutes, I shall return with them.”

“But,” hesitated the Prince, “say nothing to the Princess.”

“Oh, no, I shall not need to; the keys are sure to be on her dressing-table.”

Miss Baxter ran down to the room of the Princess, and had little difficulty in obtaining the keys. She unlocked the secret drawer into which she had seen the Princess place the packet of letters, and taking them out, she drew another sheet of paper along with them, which she read with wide-opening eyes, then with her pretty lips pursed, she actually whistled, which unmaidenly performance merely gave sibilant expression to her astonishment. Taking both the packet of letters and the sheet of paper with her, she ran swiftly up the stair and along the corridor to the room where the Prince was impatiently awaiting her.

“Give them to me,” he snapped, rudely snatching the bundle of documents from her hand. She still clung to the separate piece of paper and said nothing. The Prince stood by the window and undid the packet with trembling hands. He examined one and then another of the letters, turning at last towards the girl with renewed anger in his face.

“You are trifling with me, my girl,” he cried.

“No, I am not,” she said stoutly.

“These are my own letters, written by me to my wife before we were married!”

“Of course they are. What others did you expect? These are the only letters, so far as I have learned, that any man has written to her, and the only letters she cares for of all the thousands she has ever received. Why, you foolish, blind man, I had not been in this castle a day before I saw how matters stood. The Princess is breaking her poor heart because you are unkind to her, and she cares for nobody on earth but you, great stupid dunce that you are.”

“Is it true? Will you swear it’s true?” cried the Prince, dropping the packet and going hastily toward the girl. Miss Jennie stood with her back to the wall, and putting her hands behind her, she said,--

“No, no; you are not going to touch me again. Of course it’s true, and if you had the sense of a six-year-old child, you would have seen it long ago; and she paid sixty thousand pounds of your gambling debts, too.”

“What are you talking about? The Princess has never given me a penny of her money; I don’t need it. Goodness knows, I have money enough of my own.”

“Well, Cadbury Taylor said that you--Oh, I’ll warrant you, it is like all the rest of his statements, pure moonshine.”

“Of whom are you speaking? And why did my wife protect that wretch whom she knows has stolen her diamonds?”

“You mean von Schaumberg?”

“Yes.”

“I believe the Princess does think he stole them, and the reason the Princess protects him is to prevent you from challenging him, for she fears that he, being a military man, will kill you, although I fancy she would be well rid of you.”

“But he stole the diamonds--there was nobody else.”

“He did nothing of the kind. Read that!”

The Prince, bewildered, took the sheet that she handed to him and read it, a wrinkle of bewilderment corrugating his brow.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with the case,” he said at last. “It seems to be an order on the bank at Vienna for the diamonds, written by the Princess herself.”

“Of course it is. Well, if the diamonds had been delivered, that paper would now be in the possession of the bank instead of in your hands.”

“Perhaps she mislaid this order and wrote another.”

“Perhaps. Still it might be worth while finding out.”

“Take this, then, to the Princess and ask her.”

“It is not likely she would remember. The better plan is to telegraph at once to the Vienna bank, asking them to send the diamonds to Meran by special messenger. No one there knows that the diamonds are missing.”

“I will do so at once,” cried the Prince, with more animation in his voice than Miss Baxter had previously noticed. His Highness was becoming interested in the game.

After luncheon the Princess came to Miss Baxter, who was seated at her desk, and handed her a letter.

“There is an invitation from the Duchess of Chiselhurst for a grand ball she is shortly to give in her London house. It is to be a very swell affair, but I don’t care enough for such things to go all the way to England to enjoy them. Would you therefore send her Grace my regrets?”

“I will do so at once.”

At that moment there came a messenger from the Prince asking Miss Baxter to meet him in the library. The girl glanced up at the Princess.

“Have I your permission to go?” she said.

The Princess looked at her steadily for a moment, just the faintest suspicion of a frown on her fair brow.

“I do not suppose you need my permission.” Her Highness spoke with slow deliberation. “My husband condescends to take considerable interest in you. Passing along the corridor this morning, I heard your voices in most animated conversation.”

“Had you sufficient interest in our discussion to stop and listen to what we said, Princess von Steinheimer?”

“Ah, now you are becoming insolent, and I must ask you to consider your engagement with me at an end.”

“Surely you will not dismiss me in this heartless way, Princess. I think I am entitled to a month’s notice, or is it only a week’s?”

“I will pay you a year’s salary, or two years’ if that will content you. I have no wish to deal harshly with you, but I desire you to leave at once,” said the Princess, who had little sense of humour, and thus thought the girl was in earnest when she asked for notice.

Miss Baxter laughed merrily, and replied when she was able to control her mirth, “I do hate to leave the castle just when things are becoming interesting. Still, I don’t suppose I shall really need to go away in spite of your dismissal, for the Prince this morning offered me ten times the amount of money you are paying.”

“Did he?”

“Be assured he did; if you don’t believe me, ask him. I told him he was a fool, but, alas, we live in a cynical age, and few men believe all they hear, so I fear my expression of opinion made little impression on him.”

“I shall not keep you longer from his Highness,” said the Princess with freezing dignity.

“Thank you so much. I am just dying to meet him, for I know he has something most interesting to tell me. Don’t you think yourself, Princess, that a man acts rather like a fool when he is deeply in love?”

To this there was no reply, and the Princess left the room.

Miss Jennie jumped to her feet and almost ran to the library. She found the Prince walking up and down the long room with a telegraph message in his hand. “You are a most wonderful young woman,” he said; “read that.”

“I have been told so by more observing men than you, Prince von Steinheimer,” said the girl, taking the telegram. It was from the manager of the bank in Vienna, and it ran: “Special messenger leaves with package by the Meran express to-night.”

“Just as I thought,” said Miss Jennie; “the diamonds never left the bank. I suppose those idiots of servants which the Princess has round her didn’t know what they took away from Vienna and what they left. Then, when the diamonds were missing, they completely lost their heads--not that anyone in the castle has much wit to spare. I never saw such an incompetent lot.”

The Prince laughed.

“You think, perhaps, I have not wit enough to see that my wife cares for me, is that it? Is that why you gave me my own letters?”

“Oh, you are well mated! The Princess now does me the honour of being jealous. Think of that! As if it were possible that I should take any interest in you, for I have seen real men in my time.”

The Prince regarded her with his most severe expression.

“Are you not flattering yourself somewhat, young lady?”

“Oh, dear no! I take it as the reverse of flattering to be supposed that I have any liking for such a ninny as you are. Flattering, indeed! And she has haughtily dismissed me, if you please.”

“The Princess has? What have you been saying to her?”

“Oh, I made the most innocent remark, and it was the truth too, which shows that honesty is not always the best policy. I merely told her that you had offered me ten times the amount of money she is paying me. You needn’t jump as if somebody had shot off a gun at your ear. You know you did make such an offer.”

“You confounded little mischief-maker,” cried the Prince in anger. “Did you tell her what it was for?”

“No. She did not ask.”

“I will thank you to apply the cleverness you seem to possess to the undoing of the harm you have so light-heartedly caused.”

“How can I? I am ordered to leave to-night, when I did _so_ wish to stay and see the diamond _dénouement_.”

“You are not going to-night. I shall speak to the Princess about it if that should be necessary. Your mention of the diamonds reminds me that my respected father-in-law, Mr. Briggs, informs me that a celebrated detective, whom it seems he has engaged--Taylor, I think the name is--will be here to-morrow to explain the diamond mystery, so you see you have a competitor.”

“Oh, is Cadbury coming? That is too jolly for anything. I simply _must_ stay and hear his explanation, for he is a very famous detective, and the conclusions he has arrived at must be most interesting.”

“I think some explanations are due to me as well. My worthy father-in-law seems to have commissioned this person without thinking it necessary to consult me in the least; in fact, Mr. Briggs goes about the castle looking so dark and lowering when he meets me, that I sometimes doubt whether this is my own house or not.”

“And is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Is it your own house? I was told it was mortgaged up to the tallest turret. Still, you can’t blame Mr. Briggs for being anxious about the diamonds; they belong to his daughter.”

“They belong to my wife.”

“True. That complicates matters a bit, and gives both Chicago and Vienna a right to look black. And now, your Highness, I must take my leave of you; and if the diamonds come safely in the morning, remember I intend to claim salvage on them. Meanwhile, I am going to write a nice little story about them.”

In the morning the diamonds arrived by special messenger, who first took a formal receipt for them, and then most obsequiously took his departure. By the same train came Mr. Cadbury Taylor, as modest as ever, but giving some indication in his bearing of the importance of the discovery his wonderful system had aided him in making. He blandly evaded the curiosity of Mr. Briggs, and said it would perhaps be better to reveal the secret in the presence of the Prince and Princess, as his investigations had led him to conclusions that might be unpleasant for one of them to hear, yet were not to be divulged in their absence.

“Just what I suspected,” muttered Mr. Briggs, who had long been convinced that the Prince was the actual culprit.

The important gathering took place in the library, the Prince, with the diamonds in his coat pocket, seated at the head of the long table, while the Princess sat at the foot, as far from her husband as she could conveniently get without attracting notice. Miss Baxter stood near a window, reading an important letter from London which had reached her that morning. The tall, thin detective and the portly Mr. Briggs came in together, the London man bowing gravely to the Prince and Princess. Mr. Briggs took a seat at the side of the table, but the detective remained standing, looking questioningly at Miss Baxter, but evidently not recognizing her as the lady who had come in upon him and his friend when they had entered the train.

“I beg the pardon of your Highness, but what I have to say had better be said with as few hearers as possible. I should be much obliged if this young person would read her correspondence in another room.”

“The young woman,” said the Prince coldly, “is secretary to her Highness, and is entirely in her confidence.”

The Princess said nothing, but sat with her eyes upon the table, apparently taking no note of what was going on. Rich colour came into her face, and, as the keen detective cast a swift glance at her, he saw before him a woman conscious of her guilt, fearing exposure, yet not knowing how to avert it.

“If your Highness will excuse my persistence,” began Mr. Taylor blandly.

“But I will not,” interrupted the Prince gruffly. “Go on with your story without so much circumlocution.”

The detective, apparently unruffled by the discourtesy he met, bowed profoundly towards the Prince, cleared his throat, and began.

“May I ask your Highness,” he said, addressing himself to the Princess, “how much money you possessed just before you left Vienna?”

The lady looked up at him in surprise, but did not answer.

“In Heaven’s name, what has that to do with the loss of the diamonds?”
rapped out the Prince, his hot temper getting once more the better of him. Cadbury Taylor spread out his hands and shrugged his shoulders in protest at the interruption. He spoke with deference, but nevertheless there was a touch of reproach in his tone.

“I am accustomed to being listened to with patience, and am generally allowed to tell my story my own way, your Highness.”

“What I complain of is that you are not telling any story at all, but are asking instead a very impertinent question.”

“Questions which seem to you irrelevant may be to a trained mind most--”

“Bosh! Trained donkeys! Do you know where the diamonds are?”

“Yes, I do,” answered Cadbury Taylor, still imperturbable, in spite of the provocation he was receiving.

“Well, where are they?”

“They are in the vaults of your bank in Vienna.”

“I don’t believe it. Who stole them then?”

“They were put there by her Highness the Princess von Steinheimer, doubtless in security for money--”

“What!” roared the Prince, springing to his feet, his stentorian voice ringing to the ceiling. “Do you mean to insinuate, you villain, that my wife stole her own diamonds?”

“If your Highness would allow me to proceed in my own--”

“Enough of this fooling. There are the diamonds,” cried the Prince, jerking the box from his pocket and flinging it on the table.

“There!” shouted old man Briggs, bringing his clenched fist down on the oak. “What did I tell you? I knew it all along. The Prince stole the diamonds, and in his excitement yanks them out of his pocket and proves it. That was _my_ opinion all along!”

“Oh, father, father!” moaned the Princess, speaking for the first time. “How can you say such a thing? My husband couldn’t do a mean action if he tried. The idea of him stealing the diamonds! Not if they were worth a thousand millions and detection impossible.”

The Prince, who had been glaring at Mr. Briggs, and who seemed on the point of giving that red-faced gentleman a bit of his mind, turned a softened gaze upon his wife, who rested her arms on the table and buried her face in them.

“Come, come,” cried Miss Jennie Baxter, stepping energetically forward; “I imagine everybody has had enough of this. Clear out, Mr. Briggs, and take Mr. Taylor with you; I am sure he has not had any breakfast yet, and he certainly looks hungry. If you hire detectives, Mr. Briggs, you must take care of them. Out you go. The dining-room is ever so much more inviting just now than the library; and if you don’t see what you want, ring for it.”

She drove the two speechless men out before her, and, closing the door, said to the Prince, who was still standing bewildered at having his hand forced in this manner,--

“There! Two fools from four leaves two. Now, my dears--I’m not going to Highness either of you--you are simply two lone people who like each other immensely, yet who are drifting apart through foolish misunderstandings that a few words would put right if either of you had sense enough to speak them, which you haven’t, and that’s why I’m here to speak them for you. Now, madame, I am ready to swear that the Prince has never said anything to me that did not show his deep love for you, and if you had overheard us, you would not need me to tell you so. He thinks that you have a fancy for that idiot von Schaumberg--not that I ever saw the poor man; but he is bound to be an idiot, or the Prince wouldn’t be jealous of him. As nobody has stolen the diamonds after all this fuss, so no one has stolen the affection of either of you from the other. I can see by the way you look at each other that I won’t need to apologize for leaving you alone together while I run upstairs to pack.”

“Oh, but you are not going to leave us?” cried the Princess.

“I should be delighted to stay; but there is no rest for the wicked, and I must get back to London.”

With that the girl ran to her room and there re-read the letter she had received.

“Dear Miss Baxter (it ran),--We are in a very considerable dilemma here, so I write asking you to see me in London without delay, going back to the Tyrol later on if the investigation of the diamond mystery renders your return necessary. The Duchess of Chiselhurst is giving a great ball on the 29th. It is to be a very swagger affair, with notables from every part of Europe, and they seem determined that no one connected with a newspaper shall be admitted. We have set at work every influence to obtain an invitation for a reporter, but without success, the reply invariably given being that an official account will be sent to the press. Now, I want you to set your ingenuity at work, and gain admittance if possible, for I am determined to have an account of this ball written in such a way that everyone who reads it will know that the writer was present. If you can manage this, I can hardly tell you how grateful the proprietor and myself will be.--Yours very truly,

“RADNOR HARDWICK.”

Miss Jennie Baxter sat for some moments musing, with the letter in her hand. She conned over in her mind the names of those who might be able to assist her in this task, but she dismissed them one by one, well knowing that if Mr. Hardwick and the proprietor of the _Bugle_ had petitioned all their influential friends without avail, she could not hope to succeed with the help of the very few important personages she was acquainted with. She wondered if the Princess could get her an invitation; then suddenly her eyes lit up, and she sprang eagerly to her feet.

“What a fortunate thing it is,” she cried aloud, “that I did not send on the refusal of the Princess to the Duchess of Chiselhurst. I had forgotten all about it until this moment.”

CHAPTER VII. JENNIE ARRANGES A CINDERELLA VISIT.

The room which had been allotted to Jennie Baxter in the Schloss Steinheimer enjoyed a most extended outlook. A door-window gave access to a stone balcony, which hung against the castle wall like a swallow’s nest at the eaves of a house. This balcony was just wide enough to give ample space for one of the easy rocking-chairs which the Princess had imported from America, and which Jennie thought were the only really comfortable pieces of furniture the old stronghold possessed, much as she admired the artistic excellence of the mediæval chairs, tables, and cabinets which for centuries had served the needs of the ancient line that had lived in the Schloss. The rocking-chair was as modern as this morning’s daily paper; its woodwork painted a bright scarlet, its arms like broad shelves, its rockers as sensitively balanced as a marine compass; in fact, just such a chair as one would find dotted round the vast verandah of an American summer hotel. In this chair sat Miss Jennie, two open letters on her lap, and perplexity in the dainty little frown that faintly ruffled the smoothness of her fair brow. The scene from the high balcony was one to be remembered; but, although this was her last day at the Castle, the girl saw nothing of the pretty town of Meran so far below; the distant chalk-line down the slope beyond which marked the turbulent course of the foaming Adege; the lofty mountains all around, or the further snow-peaks, dazzling white against the deep blue of the sky.

One of the epistles which lay on her lap was the letter she had received from the editor recounting the difficulties he had met with while endeavouring to make arrangements for reporting adequately the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball; the other was the still unanswered invitation from the Duchess to the Princess. Jennie was flattered to know that already the editor, who had engaged her with unconcealed reluctance, expected her to accomplish what the entire staff were powerless to effect. She knew that, had she but the courage, it was only necessary to accept the invitation in the name of her present hostess, and attend the great society function as Princess von Steinheimer. Yet she hesitated, not so much on account of the manifest danger of discovery, but because she had grown to like the Princess, and this impersonation, if it came to the knowledge of the one most intimately concerned, as it was almost sure to do, would doubtless be regarded as an unpardonable liberty. As she swayed gently back and forth in the gaudy rocking-chair, she thought of confessing everything to the Princess and asking her assistance; but pondering on this, she saw that it was staking everything on one throw of the dice. If the Princess refused, then the scheme became impossible, as that lady herself would answer the letter of the Duchess and decline the invitation. Jennie soothed her accusing conscience by telling herself that this impersonation would do no harm to Princess von Steinheimer, or to anyone else for that matter, while it would be of inestimable assistance to her own journalistic career. From that she drifted to meditation on the inequalities of this life--the superabundance which some possess, while others, no less deserving, have difficulty in obtaining the scant necessities. And this consoling train of thought having fixed her resolve to take the goods the gods scattered at her feet, or rather threw into her lap, she drew a long sigh of determination as there came a gentle tap at the door of her room, and the voice of the Princess herself said, “May I come in?”

Jennie, a rapid blush flaming her cheeks, sprang to her feet, flung the letters on a table, and opened the door.

The visitor entered, looking attractive enough to be a princess of fairyland, and greeted Miss Baxter most cordially.

“I am so sorry you are leaving,” she said. “Cannot you be persuaded to change your mind and stay with me? Where could you find a more lovely view than this from your balcony here?”

“Or a more lovely hostess?” said the girl, looking at her visitor with undisguised admiration and quite ignoring the landscape.

The Princess laughed, and as they now stood together on the balcony she put out her hands, pushed Jennie gently into the rocking-chair again, seating herself jauntily on its broad arm, and thus the two looked like a pair of mischievous schoolgirls, home at vacation time, thoroughly enjoying their liberty.

“There! You are now my prisoner, about to be punished for flattery,”
cried the Princess. “I saw by the motion of the chair that you had just jumped up from it when I disturbed you, so there you are, back in it again. What were you thinking about? A rocking-chair lends itself deliciously to meditation, and we always dream of someone very particular as we rock.”

“I am no exception to the rule,” sighed Jennie; “I was thinking of you, Princess.”

“How nice of you to say that; and as one good turn deserves another, here is proof that a certain young lady has been in my thoughts.”

As she spoke, the Princess took from her pocket an embossed case of Russian leather, opened it and displayed a string of diamonds, lustrous as drops of liquid light.

“I want you to wear these stones in remembrance of our diamond mystery--that is why I chose diamonds--and also, I confess, because I want you to think of me every time you put them on. See how conceited I am! One does not like to be forgotten.”

Jennie took the string, her own eyes for a moment rivalling in brilliancy the sparkle of the gems; then the moisture obscured her vision and she automatically poured the stones from one hand to the other, as if their scintillating glitter hypnotized her. She tried once or twice to speak, but could not be sure of her voice, so remained silent. The Princess, noticing her agitation, gently lifted the necklace and clasped it round the girl’s white throat, chattering all the while with nervous haste.

“There! you can wear diamonds, and there are so many to whom they are unbecoming. I also look well in diamonds--at least, so I’ve been told over and over again, and I’ve come to believe it at last. I suppose the young men have not concealed from you the fact that you are a strikingly good-looking girl, Jennie. Indeed, and this is brag if you like, we two resemble one another enough to be sisters, nearly the same height, the same colour of eyes and hair. Come to the mirror, Miss Handsomeness, and admire yourself.”

She dragged Jennie to her feet and drew her into the room, placing her triumphantly before the great looking-glass that reflected back a full-length portrait.

“Now confess that you never saw a prettier girl,” cried the Princess gleefully.

“I don’t think I ever did,” admitted Jennie, but she was looking at the image of the Princess and not at her own. The Princess laughed, but Miss Baxter seemed too much affected by the unexpected present to join in the merriment. She regarded herself solemnly in the glass for a few moments, then slowly undid the clasp, and, slipping the string of brilliants from her neck, handed them back to the Princess. “You are very, very kind, but I cannot accept so costly a present.”

“Cannot? Why? Have I offended you by anything I have said since you came?”

“Oh, no, no. It isn’t that.”

“What, then? Don’t you like me, after all?”

“Like you? I _love_ you, Princess!” cried the girl impulsively, throwing her arms round the other’s neck.

The Princess tried to laugh as she pressed Jennie closely to her, but there was a tremour of tears in the laughter.

“You must take this little gift as a souvenir of your visit with me. I was really--very unhappy when you came, and now--well, you smoothed away some misunderstandings--I’m more than grateful. And it isn’t natural for a woman to refuse diamonds, Jennie.”

“I know it isn’t; and I won’t quite refuse them. I’ll postpone. It is possible that something I shall do before long may seriously offend you. If it does--then good-bye to the necklace! If it doesn’t, when I have told you all about my misdeed--I shall confess courageously--you will give me the diamonds.”

“Dear me, Jennie, what terrible crime are you about to commit? Why not tell me now? You have no idea how you have aroused my curiosity.”

“I dare not tell you, Princess; not until my project proves a success or a failure. We women--some have our way made for us--others have our own way to make. I am among the others, and I hope you will remember that, if you are ever angry with me.”

“Is it a new kind of speculation? A fortune made in a day? Gambling?”

“Something of that sort. I am going to stake a good deal on the turn of a card; so please pray that luck will not be against me.”

“If pluck will make you win, I am sure you will carry it through, but if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again; and if you haven’t the money, I’ll supply the capital. I know I should like to gamble. Anyhow, you have my best wishes for your success.”

“Thank you, Princess. I can hardly fail after that.”

The time had come when the two friends must part. The carriage was waiting to take Miss Baxter to the station, and the girl bade good-bye to her hostess with an uneasy feeling that she was acting disloyally to one who had befriended her. In her handbag was the invitation to the ball, and also the letter she had written in the Princess’s name accepting it, which latter she posted in Meran. In due course she reached London, and presented herself to the editor of the _Daily Bugle_.

“Well, Miss Baxter,” he said, “you have been extraordinarily successful in solving the diamond mystery, and I congratulate you. My letter reached you, I suppose. Have you given any thought to the problem that now confronts us? Can you get us a full report of the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball, written so convincingly that all the guests who read it will know that the writer was present?”

“It is entirely a question of money, Mr. Hardwick.”

“Most things are. Well, we are prepared to spend money to get just what we want.”

“How much?”

“Whatever is necessary.”

“That’s vague. Put it into figures.”

“Five hundred pounds; seven hundred; a thousand if need be.”

“It will not cost you a thousand, and it may come to more than five hundred. Place the thousand to my credit, and I shall return what is left. I must go at once to Paris and carry out my plans from that city.”

“Then you have thought out a scheme. What is it?”

“I have not only thought it out, but most of the arrangements are already made. I cannot say more about it. You will have to trust wholly to me.”

“There is a good deal of money at stake, Miss Baxter, and our reputation as a newspaper as well. I think I should know what you propose to do.”

“Certainly. I propose to obtain for you an accurate description of the ball, written by one who was present.”

The editor gave utterance to a sort of interjection that always served him in place of a laugh.

“In other words, you want neither interference nor advice.”

“Exactly, Mr. Hardwick. You know from experience that little good comes of talking too much of a secret project not yet completed.”

The editor drummed with his fingers on the table for a few moments thoughtfully.

“Very well, then, it shall be as you say. I should have been very glad to share the responsibility of failure with you; but if you prefer to take the whole risk yourself, there is nothing more to be said. The thousand pounds shall be placed to your credit at once. What next?”

“On the night of the ball I should like you to have three or four expert shorthand writers here; I don’t know how many will be necessary--you understand more about that than I do; but it is my intention to dictate the report right along as fast as I can talk until it is finished, and I don’t wish to be stopped or interrupted, so I want the best stenographers you have; they are to relieve one another just as if they were taking down a parliamentary speech. The men had better be in readiness at midnight; I shall be here as soon after that as possible. If you will kindly run over their type-written MS. before it goes to the compositors, I will glance at the proofs when I have finished dictating.”

“Then you hope to attend the ball yourself.”

“Perhaps.”

“You have just returned from the Tyrol, and I fear you don’t quite appreciate the difficulties that are in the way. This is no ordinary society function, and if you think even a thousand pounds will gain admittance to an uninvited guest, you will find yourself mistaken.”

“So I understood from your letter.”

Again the editorial interjection did duty for a laugh.

“You are very sanguine, Miss Baxter. I wish I felt as confident; however, we will hope for the best, and if we cannot command success, we will at least endeavour to deserve it.”

Jennie, with the thousand pounds at her disposal, went to Paris, took rooms at the most aristocratic hotel, engaged a maid, and set about the construction of a ball dress that would be a dream of beauty. Luckily, she knew exactly the gown-making resources of Paris, and the craftsmen to whom she gave her orders were not the less anxious to please her when they knew that the question of cost was not to be considered. From Paris she telegraphed in the name of the Princess von Steinheimer to Claridge’s Hotel for an apartment on the night of the ball, and asked that a suitable equipage be provided to convey her to and from that festival.

Arriving at Claridge’s, she was well aware her first danger was that someone who knew the Princess von Steinheimer would call upon her; but on the valid plea of fatigue from her journey she proclaimed that in no circumstances could she see any visitor, and thus shipwreck was avoided at the outset. It was unlikely that the Princess von Steinheimer was personally known to many who would attend the ball; in fact, the Princess had given to Jennie as her main reason for refusing the invitation the excuse that she knew no one in London. She had been invited merely because of the social position of the Prince in Vienna, and was unknown by sight even to her hostess, the Duchess of Chiselhurst. Critically, she compared the chances of success with the chances of failure, and often it seemed that disaster was inevitable, unversed as she knew herself to be in the customs of grand society at one of its high functions, but nevertheless she was undaunted by the odds against her, and resolved to stake a career on the fortunes of a night.

CHAPTER VIII. JENNIE MIXES WITH THE ELITE OF EARTH.

It is said that a woman magnificently robed is superior to all earthly tribulations. Such was the case with Jennie as she left her carriage, walked along the strip of carpet which lay across the pavement under a canopy, and entered the great hall of the Duke of Chiselhurst’s town house, one of the huge palaces of Western London. Nothing so resplendent had she ever witnessed, or even imagined, as the scene which met her eye when she found herself about to ascend the broad stairway at the top of which the hostess stood to receive her distinguished guests. Early as she was, the stairway and the rooms beyond seemed already thronged. Splendid menials in gorgeous livery, crimson the predominant colour, stood on each step at either side of the stair. Uniforms of every pattern, from the dazzling oriental raiment of Indian princes and eastern potentates, to the more sober, but scarcely less rich apparel of the diplomatic corps, ministers of the Empire, and officers, naval and military, gave the final note of magnificence and picturesque decoration. Like tropical flowers in this garden of colour were the ladies, who, with easy grace, moved to and fro, bestowing a smile here and a whisper there; and yet, despite her agitation, a hurried, furtive glance around brought to Jennie the conviction that she was, perhaps, the best-gowned woman in that assemblage of well-dressed people, which recognition somewhat calmed her palpitating heart. The whole environment seemed unreal to her, and she walked forward as if in a dream. She heard someone cry, “The Princess von Steinheimer,” and at first had a difficulty in realizing that the title, for the moment, pertained to herself. The next instant her hand was in that of the Duchess of Chiselhurst, and Jennie heard the lady murmur that it was good of her to come so far to grace the occasion. The girl made some sort of reply which she found herself unable afterwards to recall, but the rapid incoming of other guests led her to hope that, if she had used any unsuitable phrase, it was either unheard or forgotten in the tension of the time. She stood aside and formed one of the brilliant group at the head of the stairs, thankful that this first ordeal was well done with. Her rapidly beating heart had now opportunity to lessen its pulsations, and as she soon realized that she was practically unnoticed, her natural calmness began to return to her. She remembered why she was there, and her discerning eye enabled her to stamp on a retentive memory the various particulars of so unaccustomed a spectacle whose very unfamiliarity made the greater impression upon the girl’s mind. She moved away from the group, determined to saunter through the numerous rooms thrown open for the occasion, and thus, as it were, get her bearings. In a short time all fear of discovery left her, and she began to feel very much at home in the lofty, crowded salons, pausing even to enjoy a selection which a military band, partly concealed in the foliage, was rendering in masterly manner, led by the most famous _impressario_ of the day. The remote probability of meeting anyone here who knew the Princess reassured her, and there speedily came over her a sense of delight in all the kaleidoscopic bewilderment of this great entertainment. She saw that each one there had interest in someone else, and, to her great relief, found herself left entirely alone with reasonable assurance that this remoteness would continue to befriend her until the final gauntlet of leave-taking had to be run; a trial still to be encountered, the thought of which she resolutely put away from her, trusting to the luck that had hitherto not deserted her.

Jennie was in this complaisant frame of mind when she was suddenly startled by a voice at her side.

“Ah, Princess, I have been searching everywhere for you, catching glimpses of you now and then, only to lose you, as, alas, has been my fate on more serious occasion. May I flatter myself with the belief that you also remember?”

There was no recognition in the large frightened eyes that were turned upon him. They saw a young man bowing low over the unresisting hand he had taken. His face was clear-cut and unmistakably English. Jennie saw his closely-cropped auburn head, and, as it raised until it overtopped her own, the girl, terrified as she was, could not but admire the sweeping blonde moustache that overshadowed a smile, half-wistful, half-humorous, which lighted up his handsome face. The ribbon of some order was worn athwart his breast; otherwise he wore court dress, which well became his stalwart frame.

“I am disconsolate to see that I am indeed forgotten, Princess, and so another cherished delusion fades away from me.”

Her fan concealed the lower part of the girl’s face, and she looked at him over its fleecy semicircle.

“Put not your trust in princesses,” she murmured, a sparkle of latent mischief lighting up her eyes.

The young man laughed. “Indeed,” he said, “had I served my country as faithfully as I have been true to my remembrance of you, Princess, I would have been an ambassador long ere this, covered with decorations. Have you then lost all recollection of that winter in Washington five years ago; that whirlwind of gaiety which ended by wafting you away to a foreign country, and thus the eventful season clings to my memory as if it were a disastrous western cyclone? Is it possible that I must re-introduce myself as Donal Stirling?”

“Not Lord Donal Stirling?” asked Jennie, dimly remembering that she had heard this name in connection with something diplomatic, and her guess that he was in that service was strengthened by his previous remark about being an ambassador.

“Yes, Lord Donal, if you will cruelly insist on calling me so; but this cannot take from me the consolation that once, in the conservatory of the White House, under the very shadow of the President, you condescended to call me Don.”

“You cannot expect one to remember what happened in Washington five years ago. You know the administration itself changes every four years, and memories seldom carry back even so far as that.”

“I had hoped that my most outspoken adoration would have left reminiscence which might outlast an administration. I have not found forgetting so easy.”

“Are you quite sure of that, Lord Donal?” asked the girl archly, closing her fan and giving him for the first time a full view of her face.

The young man seemed for a moment perplexed, but she went on, giving him little time for reflection. “Have your diplomatic duties taken you away from Washington?”

“Yes, to the other end of the earth. I am now in St. Petersburg, with ultimate hopes of Vienna, Princess. I happened to be in London this week, and hearing you were to be here, I moved heaven and earth for an invitation.”

“Which you obtained, only to find yourself forgotten. How hollow this world is, isn’t it?”

“Alas, yes. A man in my profession sees a good deal of the seamy side of life, and I fully believe that my rapidly lessening dependence on human veracity will be shattered by my superiors sending me to Constantinople. But let me find you a seat out of this crowd where we may talk of old times.”

“I don’t care so much about the past as I do about the present. Let us go up into that gallery, where you shall point out to me the celebrities. I suppose you know them all, while I am an entire stranger to London Society.”

“That is a capital idea,” cried the young man enthusiastically. “Yes, I think I know most of the people here, at least by name. Ah, here comes the Royal party; we shall just be in time to have a good look at them.”

The band played the National Anthem, and Lord Donal got two chairs, which he placed at the edge of the gallery, well hidden from the promenaders by spreading tropical plants.

“Oh, this _is_ jolly,” cried Jennie, quite forgetting the dignity of a Princess. “You told me why you came to the ball. Do you know why I am here?”

“On the remote chance of meeting me whom you pretended to have forgotten,” replied the young man audaciously.

“Of course,” laughed Jennie; “but aside from that, I came to see the costumes. You know, we women are libellously said to dress for each other. Away from the world, in the Tyrol, I have little opportunity of seeing anything fine in the way of dress, and so I accepted the invitation of the Duchess.”

“Have you the invitation of the Duchess with you?”

“Yes, I am going to make some notes on the back of it. Would you like to see it?” She handed him the letter and then leaned back in her chair, regarding him closely. The puzzled expression on his face deepened as he glanced over the invitation, and saw that it was exactly what it purported to be. He gave the letter back to her, saying,--

“So you are here to see the fashions. It is a subject I know little about; but, judging by effect, I should say that the Princess von Steinheimer has nothing to learn from anyone present. If I may touch on a topic so personal, your costume is what they call a creation, is it not, Princess?”

“It isn’t bad,” said the girl, looking down at her gown and then glancing up at him with merriment dancing in her eyes. The diplomat had his elbow resting on the balustrade, his head leaning on his hand, and, quite oblivious to everything else, was gazing at her with such absorbed intentness that the girl blushed and cast down her eyes. The intense admiration in his look was undisguised. “Still,” she rattled on somewhat breathlessly, “one gets many hints from others, and the creation of to-day is merely the old clothes of to-morrow. Invention has no vacation so far as ladies’ apparel is concerned. ‘Take no thought of the morrow, wherewithal ye shall be clothed,’ may have been a good motto for the court of Solomon, but it has little relation with that of Victoria.”

“Solomon--if the saying is his--was hedging. He had many wives, you know.”

“Well, as I was about to say, you must now turn your attention to the other guests, and tell me who’s who. I have already confessed my ignorance, and you promised to enlighten me.”

The young man, with visible reluctance, directed his thoughts from the one to the many, and named this person and that, while Jennie, with the pencil attached to her card, made cabalistic notes in shorthand, economizing thus both space and time. When at last she had all the information that could be desired, she leaned back in her chair with a little sigh of supreme content. Whatever might now betide, her mission was fulfilled, if she once got quietly away. The complete details of the most important society event of the season were at her fingers’ ends. She closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the satisfaction which success leaves in its train, and when she opened them again found Lord Donal in his old posture, absorbed in the contemplation of her undeniable beauty.

“I see you are determined I shall have no difficulty in remembering you next time we meet,” she said with a smile, at the same time flushing slightly under his ardent gaze.

“I was just thinking,” he replied, shifting his position a little, “that the five years which have dealt so hardly with me, have left you five years younger.”

“Age has many privileges, Lord Donal,” she said to him, laughing outright; “but I don’t think you can yet lay claim to any of them. The pose of the prematurely old is not in the least borne out by your appearance, however hardly the girl you met in Washington dealt with you.”

“Ah, Princess, it is very easy for you to treat these serious matters lightly. He laughs at scars who never felt a wound. Time, being above all things treacherous, often leaves the face untouched the more effectually to scar the heart. The hurt concealed is ever the more dangerous.”

“I fancy it has been concealed so effectually that it is not as deep as you imagined.”

“Princess, I will confess to you that the wound at Washington was as nothing to the one received at London.”

“Yes; you told me you had been here for a week.”

“The week has nothing to do with it. I have been here for a night--for two hours--or three; I have lost count of time since I met you.”

What reply the girl might have made to this speech, delivered with all the fervency of a man in thorough earnest, will never be known, for at that moment their _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted by a messenger, who said,--

“His Excellency the Austrian Ambassador begs to be permitted to pay his regards to the Princess von Steinheimer.”

Lord Donal Stirling never took his eyes from the face of his companion, and he saw a quick pallor overspread it. He leaned forward and whispered,--

“I know the Ambassador; if you do not wish to meet him, I will intercept him.”

Jennie rose slowly to her feet, and, looking at the young man with a calmness she was far from feeling, said coldly,--

“Why should I not wish to meet the Ambassador of my adopted country?”

“I know of no reason. Quite the contrary, for he must be an old friend of yours, having been your guest at the Schloss Steinheimer a year ago.”

He stepped back as he said this, and Jennie had difficulty in suppressing the gasp of dismay with which she received his disquieting disclosure, but she stood her ground without wincing. She was face to face with the crisis she had foreseen--the coming of one who knew the Princess. Next instant the aged diplomat was bending over her outstretched hand, which in courtly fashion the old man raised to his lips.

“I am delighted to have the privilege of welcoming you to this gloomy old city, Princess von Steinheimer, which you illumine with your presence. Do you stay long in London?”

“The period of illumination is short, your Excellency. I leave for Paris to-morrow.”

“So soon? Without even visiting the Embassy? I am distressed to hear of so speedy a desertion, and yet, knowing the charms of the Schloss Steinheimer, I can hardly wonder at your wish to return there. The Prince, I suppose, is as devoted as ever to the chase. I must censure his Highness, next time we meet, for not coming with you to London; then I am sure you would have stayed longer with us.”

“The Prince is a model husband, your Excellency,” said Jennie, with a sly glance at Lord Donal, whose expression of uncertainty increased as this colloquy went on, “and he would have come to London without a murmur had his wife been selfish enough to tear him away from his beloved Meran.”

“A model husband!” said the ancient count, with an unctuous chuckle. “So few of us excel in that respect; but there is this to be said in our exculpation, few have been matrimonially so fortunate as the Prince von Steinheimer. I have never ceased to long for a repetition of the charming visit I paid to your delightful home.”

“If your Excellency but knew how welcome you are, your visits would not have such long intervals between.”

“It is most kind of you, Princess, to cheer an old man’s heart by such gracious words. It is our misfortune that affairs of State chain us to our pillar, and, indeed, diplomacy seems to become more difficult as the years go on, because we have to contend with the genius of rising young men like Lord Donal Stirling here, who are more than a match for old dogs that find it impossible to learn new tricks.”

“Indeed, your Excellency,” said his lordship, speaking for the first time since the Ambassador began, “the very reverse of that is the case. We sit humbly at your feet, ambitious to emulate, but without hope of excelling.”

The old man chuckled again, and, turning to the girl, began to make his adieux.

“Then my former rooms are waiting for me at the Castle?” he concluded.

“Yes, your Excellency, with the addition of two red rocking-chairs imported from America, which you will find most comfortable resting-places when you are free from the cares of State.”

“Ah! The rocking-chairs! I remember now that you were expecting them when I was there. So they have arrived, safely, I hope; but I think you had ordered an incredible number, to be certain of having at least one or two serviceable.”

“No; only a dozen, and they all came through without damage.”

“You young people, you young people!” murmured the Ambassador, bending again over the hand presented to him, “what unheard-of things you do.”

And so the old man shuffled away, leaving many compliments behind him, evidently not having the slightest suspicion that he had met anyone but the person he supposed himself addressing, for his eyesight was not of the best, and an Ambassador meets many fair and distinguished women.

The girl sat down with calm dignity, while Lord Donal dropped into his chair, an expression of complete mystification on his clear-cut, honest face. Jennie slowly fanned herself, for the heat made itself felt at that elevated situation, and for a few moments nothing was said by either. The young man was the first to break silence.

“Should I be so fortunate as to get an invitation to the Schloss Steinheimer, may I hope that a red rocking-chair will be allotted to me? I have not sat in one since I was in the States.”

“Yes, one for you; two for the Ambassador,” said Jennie, with a laugh.

“I should like further to flatter myself that your double generosity to the Ambassador arises solely from the dignity of his office, and is not in any way personal.”

“I am very fond of ambassadors; they are courteous gentlemen who seem to have less distrust than is exhibited by some not so exalted.”

“Distrust! You surely cannot mean that I have distrusted you, Princess?”

“Oh, I was speaking generally,” replied Jennie airily. “You seem to seek a personal application in what I say.”

“I admit, Princess, that several times this evening I have been completely at sea.”

“And what is worse, Lord Donal, you have shown it, which is the one unforgivable fault in diplomacy.”

“You are quite right. If I had you to teach me, I would be an ambassador within the next five years, or at least a minister.”

The girl looked at him over the top of her fan, covert merriment lurking in her eyes.

“When you visit Schloss Steinheimer you might ask the Prince if he objects to my giving you lessons.”

Here there was another interruption, and the announcement was made that the United States Ambassador desired to renew his acquaintance with the Princess von Steinheimer. Lord Donal made use of an impatient exclamation more emphatic than he intended to give utterance to, but on looking at his companion in alarm, he saw in her glance a quick flash of gratitude as unmistakable as if she had spoken her thanks. It was quite evident that the girl had no desire to meet his Excellency, which is not to be wondered at, as she had already encountered him three times in her capacity of journalist. He not only knew the Princess von Steinheimer, but he knew Jennie Baxter as well.

She leaned back in her chair and said wearily,--

“I seem to be having rather an abundance of diplomatic society this evening. Are you acquainted with the American Ambassador also, Lord Donal?”

“Yes,” cried the young man, eagerly springing to his feet. “He was a prominent politician in Washington while I was there. He is an excellent man, and I shall have no difficulty in making your excuses to him if you don’t wish to meet him.”

“Thank you so much. You have now an opportunity of retrieving your diplomatic reputation, if you can postpone the interview without offending him.”

Lord Donal departed with alacrity, and the moment he was gone all appearance of languor vanished from Miss Jennie Baxter.

“Now is my chance,” she whispered to herself. “I must be in my carriage before he returns.”

Eager as she was to be gone, she knew that she should betray no haste. Expecting to find a stair at the other end of the gallery, she sought for it, but there was none. Filled with apprehension that she would meet Lord Donal coming up, she had difficulty in timing her footsteps to the slow measure that was necessary. She reached the bottom of the stair in safety and unimpeded, but once on the main floor a new problem presented itself. Nothing would attract more attention than a young and beautiful lady walking the long distance between the gallery end of the room and the entrance stairway entirely alone and unattended. She stood there hesitating, wondering whether she could venture on finding a quiet side-exit, which she was sure must exist in this large house, when, to her dismay, she found Lord Donal again at her side, rather breathless, as if he had been hurrying in search of her. His brows were knit and there was an anxious expression on his face.

“I must have a word with you alone,” he whispered. “Let me conduct you to this alcove under the gallery.”

“No; I am tired. I am going home.”

“I quite understand that, but you must come with me for a moment.”

“Must?” she said, with a suggestion of defiance in her tone.

“Yes,” he answered gravely. “I wish to be of assistance to you. I think you will need it.”

For a moment she met his unflinching gaze steadily, then her glance fell, and she said in a low voice, “Very well.”

When they reached the alcove, she inquired rather quaveringly--for she saw something had happened which had finally settled all the young man’s doubts--“Is it the American Ambassador?”

“No; there was little trouble there. He expects to meet you later in the evening. But a telegraphic message has come from Meran, signed by the Princess von Steinheimer, which expresses a hope that the ball will be a success, and reiterates the regret of her Highness that she could not be present. Luckily this communication has not been shown to the Duchess. I told the Duke, who read it to me, knowing I had been with you all the evening, that it was likely a practical joke on the part of the Prince; but the Duke, who is rather a serious person, does not take kindly to that theory, and if he knew the Prince he would dismiss it as absurd--which it is. I have asked him not to show the telegram to anyone, so there is a little time for considering what had best be done.”

“There is nothing for me to do but to take my leave as quickly and as quietly as possible,” said the girl, with a nervous little laugh bordering closely on the hysterical. “I was about to make my way out by some private exit if I could find one.”

“That would be impossible, and the attempt might lead to unexpected complications. I suggest that you take my arm, and that you bid farewell to her Grace, pleading fatigue as the reason for your early departure. Then I will see you to your carriage, and when I return I shall endeavour to get that unlucky telegram from the Duke by telling him I should like to find out whether it is a hoax or not. He will have forgotten about it most likely in the morning. Therefore, all you have to do is to keep up your courage for a few moments longer until you are safe in your carriage.”

“You are very kind,” she murmured, with downcast eyes.

“You are very clever, my Princess, but the odds against you were tremendous. Some time you must tell me why you risked it.”

She made no reply, but took his arm, and together they sauntered through the rooms until they found the Duchess, when Jennie took her leave of the hostess with a demure dignity that left nothing to be desired. All went well until they reached the head of the stair, when the Duke, an ominous frown on his brow, hurried after them and said,--

“My lord, excuse me.”

Lord Donal turned with an ill-concealed expression of impatience, but he was helpless, for he feared his host might not have the good sense to avoid a scene even in his own hall. Had it been the Duchess, all would have been well, for she was a lady of infinite tact, but the Duke, as he had said, was a stupid man, who needed the constant eye of his wife upon him to restrain him from blundering. The young man whispered, “Keep right on until you are in your carriage. I shall ask my man here to call it for you, but please don’t drive away until I come.”

A sign brought a serving man up the stairs.

“Call the carriage of the Princess von Steinheimer,” said his master; then, as the lady descended the stair, Lord Donal turned, with no very thankful feeling in his heart, to hear what his host had to say.

“Lord Donal, the American Ambassador says that woman is not the Princess von Steinheimer, but is someone of no importance whom he has met several times in London. He cannot remember her name. Now, who is she, and how did you come to meet her?”

“My Lord Duke, it never occurred to me to question the identity of guests I met under your hospitable roof. I knew the Princess five years ago in Washington, before she was married. I have not seen her in the interval, but until you showed me the telegraphic message there was no question in my mind regarding her.”

“But the American Ambassador is positive.”

“Then he has more confidence in his eyesight than I have. If such a question, like international difficulties, is to be settled by the Embassies, let us refer it to Austria, who held a long conversation with the lady in my presence. Your Excellency,” he continued to the Austrian Ambassador, who was hovering near, waiting to speak to his host, “The Duke of Chiselhurst has some doubt that the lady who has just departed is the Princess von Steinheimer. You spoke with her, and can therefore decide with authority, for his Grace seems disinclined to accept my testimony.”

“Not the Princess? Nonsense. I know her very well indeed, and a most charming lady she is. I hope to be her guest again before many months are past.”

“There, my Lord Duke, you see everything is as it should be. If you will give me that stupid telegram, I will make some quiet inquiries about it. Meanwhile, the less said the better. I will see the American Ambassador and convince him of his error. And now I must make what excuses I can to the Princess for my desertion of her.”

Placing the telegram in his pocket, he hurried down the stair and out to the street. There had been some delay about the coming of the carriage, and he saw the lady he sought, at that moment entering it.

“Home at once as fast as you can,” he heard her say to the coachman. She had evidently no intention of waiting for him. He sprang forward, thrust his arm through the carriage window, and grasped her hand.

“Princess,” he cried, “you will not leave me like this. I must see you to-morrow.”

“No, no,” she gasped, shrinking into the corner of the carriage.

“You cannot be so cruel. Tell me at least where a letter will reach you. I shall not release your hand until you promise.”

With a quick movement the girl turned back the gauntlet of her long glove; the next instant the carriage was rattling down the street, while a chagrined young man stood alone on the kerb with a long, slender white glove in his hand.

“By Jove!” he said at last, as he folded it carefully and placed it in the pocket of his coat. “It is the glove this time, instead of the slipper!”

CHAPTER IX. JENNIE REALIZES THAT GREAT EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEHIND.

Jennie Baxter reached her hotel as quickly as a fast pair of horses could take her. She had succeeded; yet a few rebellious tears of disappointment trickled down her cheeks now that she was alone in the semi-darkness of the carriage. She thought of the eager young man left standing disconsolately on the kerb, with her glove dangling in his hand, and she bitterly regretted that unkind fortune had made it possible for her to meet him only under false pretences. One consolation was that he had no clue to her identity, and she was resolved never, never to see him again; yet, such is the contrariness of human nature, no sooner was she refreshed by this determination than her tears flowed more freely than ever.

She knew that she was as capable of enjoying scenes like the function she had just left as any who were there; as fitted for them by education, by personal appearance, or by natural gifts of the mind, as the most welcome of the Duchess’s guests; yet she was barred out from them as effectually as was the lost Peri at the closed gate. Why had capricious fate selected two girls of probably equal merit, and made one a princess, while the other had to work hard night and day for the mere right to live? Nothing is so ineffectual as the little word “why”; it asks, but never answers.

With a deep sigh Jennie dried her tears as the carriage pulled up at the portal of the hotel. The sigh dismissed all frivolities, all futile “whys”; the girl was now face to face with the realities of life, and the events she had so recently taken part in would soon blend themselves into a dream.

Dismissing the carriage, and walking briskly through the hall, she said to the night porter,--

“Have a hansom at the door for me in fifteen minutes.”

“A hansom, my lady?” gasped the astonished man.

“Yes.” She slipped a sovereign into his hand and ran lightly up the stairs. The porter was well accustomed to the vagaries of great ladies, although a hansom at midnight was rather beyond his experience. But if all womankind tipped so generously, they might order an omnibus, and welcome; so the hansom was speedily at the door.

Jennie roused the drowsy maid who was sitting up for her.

“Come,” she said, “you must get everything packed at once. Lay out my ordinary dress and help me off with this.”

“Where is your other glove, my lady?” asked the maid, busily unhooking, and untying.

“Lost. Don’t trouble about it. When everything is packed, get some sleep, and leave word to be called in time for the eight o’clock express for Paris. Here is money to pay the bill and your fare. It is likely I shall join you at the station; but if I do not, go to our hotel in Paris and wait for me there. Say nothing of our destination to anyone, and answer no questions regarding me, should inquiries be made. Are you sure you understand?”

“Yes, my lady.” A few moments later Jennie was in the cab, driving through the nearly deserted streets. She dismissed her vehicle at Charing Cross, walked down the Strand until she got another, then proceeded direct to the office of the _Daily Bugle_, whose upper windows formed a row of lights, all the more brilliant because of the intense darkness below.

She found the shorthand writers waiting for her. The editor met her at the door of the room reserved for her, and said, with visible anxiety on his brow, “Well, what success?”

“Complete success,” she answered shortly.

“Good!” he replied emphatically. “Now I propose to read the typewritten sheets as they come from the machine, correct them for obvious clerical errors, and send them right away to the compositors. You can, perhaps, glance over the final proofs, which will be ready almost as soon as you have finished.”

“Very well. Look closely to the spelling of proper names and verify titles. There won’t be much time for me to go carefully over the last proofs.”

“All right. You furnish the material, and I’ll see that it’s used to the best advantage.”

Jennie entered the room, and there at a desk sat the waiting stenographer; over his head hung the bulb of an electric light, its green circular shade throwing the white rays directly down on his open notebook. The girl was once more in the working world, and its bracing air acted as a tonic to her overwrought nerves. All longings and regrets had been put off with the Paris-made gown which the maid at that moment was carefully packing away. The order of nature seemed reversed; the butterfly had abandoned its gorgeous wings of gauze, and was habited in the sombre working garb of the grub. With her hands clasped behind her, the girl paced up and down the room, pouring forth words, two hundred to the minute, and sometimes more. Silently one stenographer, tiptoeing in, replaced another, who as silently departed; and from the adjoining room, the subdued, nervous, rapid click, click, click of the typewriting machine invaded, without disturbing, her consciousness. Towards three o’clock the low drone of the rotaries in the cellar made itself felt rather than heard; the early edition for the country was being run off. Time was flying--danced away by nimble feet in the West End, worked away by nimble fingers in Fleet Street (well-named thoroughfare); play and work, work and play, each supplementing the other; the acts of the frivolous recorded by the industrious.

When a little more than three hours’ dictating was finished, the voice of the girl, now as hoarse as formerly it had been musical, ceased; she dropped into a chair and rested her tired head on the deserted desk, closing her wearied eyes. She knew she had spoken between 15,000 and 20,000 words, a number almost equal in quantity to that contained in many a book which had made an author’s fame and fortune. And all for the ephemeral reading of a day--of a forenoon, more likely--to be forgotten when the evening journals came out!

Shortly after the typewriter gave its final click the editor came in.

“I didn’t like to disturb you while you were at work, and so I kept at my own task, which was no light one, and thus I appreciate the enormous strain that has rested on you. Your account is magnificent, Miss Baxter; just what I wanted, and never hoped to get.”

“I am glad you liked it,” said the girl, laughing somewhat dismally at the croaking sound of her own voice.

“I need not ask you if you were there, for no person but one who was present, and one who knew how to describe, could have produced such a vivid account of it all. How did you get in?”

“In where?” murmured Jennie drowsily. She found difficulty in keeping her mind on what he was saying.

“To the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball.”

“Oh, getting in was easy enough; it was the getting out that was the trouble.”

“Like prison, eh?” suggested the editor. “Now, will you have a little wine, or something stronger?”

“No, no. All I need is rest.”

“Then let me call a cab; I will see you home, if you will permit me.”

“I am too tired to go home; I shall remain here until morning.”

“Nonsense. You must go home and sleep for a week if you want to. Rouse up; I believe you are talking in your sleep now.”

“I understand perfectly what you are saying and what I am doing. I have work that must be attended to at eight. Please leave orders that someone is to call me at seven and bring a cup of coffee and biscuits, or rolls, or anything that is to be had at that hour. And please don’t trouble further. I am very thankful to you, but will express myself better later on.”

With this the editor had to be content, and was shortly on his way to his own well-earned rest. To Jennie it seemed but a moment after he had gone, that the porter placed coffee and rolls on the desk beside her saying, “Seven o’clock, miss!”

The coffee refreshed the girl, and as she passed through the editorial rooms she noted their forlorn, dishevelled appearance, which all places show when seen at an unaccustomed hour, their time of activity and bustle past. The rooms were littered with torn papers; waste-baskets overflowing; looking silent, scrappy, and abandoned in the grey morning light which seemed intrusive, usurping the place of the usual artificial illumination, and betraying a bareness which the other concealed. Jennie recognized a relationship between her own up-all-night feeling and the spirit of the deserted rooms.

At the railway station she found her maid waiting for her, surrounded by luggage.

“Have you got your ticket?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I have changed my mind, and will not go to Paris just now. Ask a porter to put those trunks in the left-luggage office, and bring me the keys and the receipt.”

When this was done and money matters had been adjusted between them, Jennie gave the girl five pounds more than was due to her, and saw her into the railway carriage, well pleased with the reward. A hansom brought Jennie to her flat, and so ended the exhausting episode of the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball.

Yet an event, like a malady, leaves numerous consequences in its train, extending, who shall say, how far into the future? The first symptom of these consequences was a correspondence, and, as there is no reading more dreary than a series of letters, merely their substance is given here. When Jennie was herself again, she wrote a long letter to the Princess von Steinheimer, detailing the particulars of her impersonation, and begging pardon for what she had done, while giving her reasons for doing it; but, perhaps because it did not occur to her, she made not the slightest reference to Lord Donal Stirling. Two answers came to this--one a registered packet containing the diamonds which the Princess had previously offered to her; the other a letter from the Princess’s own hand. The glitter of the diamonds showed Jennie that she had been speedily forgiven, and the letter corroborated this. In fact, the Princess upbraided her for not letting her into the secret earlier. “It is just the jolly kind of thing I should have delighted in,” wrote her Highness. “And then, if I had known, I should not have sent that unlucky telegram. It serves you right for not taking me into your confidence, and I am glad you had a fright. Think of it coming in at that inopportune moment, just as telegrams do at a play! But, Jennie, are you sure you told me everything? A letter came from London the day before yours arrived, and it bewildered me dreadfully at first. Don Stirling, whom I used to know at Washington (a conceited young fellow he was then--I hope he has improved since), wrote to say that he had met a girl at the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball who had a letter inviting the Princess von Steinheimer to the festivity. He thought at first she was the Princess (which is very complimentary to each of us), but found later that she wasn’t. Now he wants to know, you know, and thinks, quite reasonably, that I must have some inkling who that girl was, and he begs me, by our old friendship, etc., etc., etc. He is a nice young man, if a trifle confident (these young diplomatists think they hold the reins of the universe in their hands), and I should like to oblige him, but I thought first I would hear what you had to say about it. I am to address him care of the Embassy at St. Petersburg; so I suppose he’s stationed there now. By the way, how did he get your glove, or is that merely brag on his part? He says that it is the only clue he has, and he is going to trace you from that, it seems, if I do not tell him who you are and send him your address. Now, what am _I_ to say when I write to St. Petersburg?”

In reply to this, Jennie sent a somewhat incoherent letter, very different from her usual style of writing. She had not mentioned the young man in her former communication, she said, because she had been trying to forget the incident in which he was the central figure. In no circumstances could she meet him again, and she implored the Princess not to disclose her identity to him even by a hint. She explained the glove episode exactly as it happened; she was compelled to sacrifice the glove to release her hand. He had been very kind in helping her to escape from a false position, but it would be too humiliating for her ever to see him or speak with him again.

When this letter reached the Schloss at Meran, the Princess telegraphed to London, “Send me the other glove,” and Jennie sent it. A few days later came a further communication from the Princess.

“I have puzzled our young man quite effectually, I think, clever as he imagines himself to be. I wrote him a semi-indignant letter to St. Petersburg, and said I thought all along he had not really recognized me at the ball, in spite of his protestations at first. Then I saw how easily he was deluded into the belief that I was some other woman, and so the temptation to cozen him further was irresistible. Am I not a good actress? I asked him. I went on to say, with some show of anger, that a quiet flirtation in the gallery was all very well in its way, but when it came to a young man rushing in a frenzy bare-headed into the street after a respectable married woman who had just got into her carriage and was about to drive away, it was too much altogether, and thus he came into possession of the glove. As the remaining glove was of no use to me, I had great pleasure in sending it to him, but warned him that if the story of the gloves ever came to the ears of my husband, I should deny having either owned or worn them. I should like to see Don’s amazed look when the other glove drops out of my letter, which was a bulky package and cost ever so much in postage. I think the sending of the glove was an inspiration. I fancy his lordship will be now completely deluded, and that you need have no further fear of his finding you.”

Jennie read this letter over once or twice, and in spite of her friendly feeling for the Princess, there was something in the epistle that jarred on her. Nevertheless she wrote and thanked the Princess for what she had done, and then she tried to forget all about everything pertaining to the ball. However, she was not allowed to erase all thought of Lord Donal from her mind, even if she could have accomplished this task unimpeded. There shortly arrived a brief note from the Princess enclosing a letter the young diplomatist at St. Petersburg had written.

“DEAR PRINCESS” (it ran),--“I am very much obliged to you for the companion glove, as I am thus enabled to keep one and use the other as a clue. I see you not only know who the mysterious young lady is, but that you have since met her, or at least have been in correspondence with her. If the glove does not lead me to the hand, I shall pay a visit to you in the hope that you will atone for your present cruelty by telling me where to find the owner of both glove and hand.”

With regard to this note the Princess had written, “Don is not such a fool as I took him to be. He must have improved during the last few years. I wish you would write and tell me exactly what he said to you that evening.”

But with this wish Jennie did not comply. She merely again urged the Princess never to divulge the secret.

For many days Jennie heard nothing more from any of the actors in the little comedy, and the episode began to take on in her thoughts that air of unreality which remote events seem to gather round them. She went on with her daily work to the satisfaction of her employers and the augmentation of her own banking account, although no experience worthy of record occurred in her routine for several weeks. But a lull in a newspaper office is seldom of long duration.

One afternoon Mr. Hardwick came to the desk at which Jennie was at work, and said to her,--

“Cadbury Taylor called here yesterday, and was very anxious to see you. Has he been in again this afternoon?”

“You mean the detective? No, I haven’t seen him since that day at the Schloss Steinheimer. What did he want with me?”

“As far as I was able to understand, he has a very important case on hand--a sort of romance in high life; and I think he wants your assistance to unravel it; it seems to be baffling him.”

“It is not very difficult to baffle Mr. Cadbury Taylor,” said the girl, looking up at her employer with a merry twinkle in her eye.

“Well, he appears to be in a fog now, and he expressed himself to me as being very much taken with the neat way in which you unravelled the diamond mystery at Meran, so he thinks you may be of great assistance to him in his present difficulty, and is willing to pay in cash or in kind.”

“Cash payment I understand,” said the girl, “but what does he mean by payment in kind?”

“Oh, he is willing that you should make a sensational article out of the episode. It deals entirely, he says, with persons in high life--titled persons--and so it might make an interesting column or two for the paper.”

“I see--providing, of course, that the tangled skein was unravelled by the transcendent genius of Mr. Cadbury Taylor,” said the girl cynically.

“I don’t think he wants his name mentioned,” continued the editor; “in fact, he said that it wouldn’t do to refer to him at all, for if people discovered that he made public any of the cases intrusted to him, he would lose his business. He has been working on this problem for several weeks, and I believe has made little progress towards its solution. His client is growing impatient, so it occurred to the detective that you might consent to help him. He said, with a good deal of complacency, that he did not know you were connected with the _Bugle_, but he put his wits at work and has traced you to this office.”

“How clever he is!” said Jennie, laughing; “I am sure I made no secret of the fact that I work for the _Daily Bugle_.”

“I think Mr. Taylor will have no hesitation in agreeing with you that he is clever; nevertheless, it might be worth while to see him and to assist him if you can, because nothing so takes the public as a romance in high life. Here is his address; would you mind calling on him?”

“Not at all,” replied the young woman, copying the street and number in her note-book.

CHAPTER X. JENNIE ASSISTS IN SEARCHING FOR HERSELF.

Next day Jennie Baxter drove to the address the editor had given her, and she found Mr. Cadbury Taylor at home, in somewhat sumptuous offices on the first floor. Fastened to his door was a brass plate, which exposed to public view the carven words--

CADBURY TAYLOR,
Private Enquiry Agent.

The detective was quite evidently very glad to see her.

“I intended calling to-day at the office of the _Bugle_ on the chance of finding you,” he said; “but I am delighted to meet you here, because we can talk without fear of interruption. Has the editor told you anything of this case?”

“Very little; he didn’t seem to know much about it himself.”

“It was impossible for me to go into full particulars with him. I could only give him a hint or two in order to convey to him some idea of the interest which the mystery, when solved, might have from a newspaper standpoint. Of course I wished to gain his assistance so that he might, perhaps, persuade you to help me in this matter.”

“He seems to be quite willing that I should lend what aid I can,” said Jennie; “but I must have full details before I promise. I have a good deal of work on hand, and, unless this case is interesting from a newspaper point of view, as you have just said, I don’t think that I should care to touch it.”

“Oh, you will find it of great interest,” the detective assured her with much eagerness. “It relates to the sudden and hitherto unexplained disappearance of a woman. That of itself is absorbing, for I may tell you, as one having a large experience, that there is nothing more difficult in this world than for any person, and more especially for a woman, to disappear entirely and leave no trace behind.”

“I should have thought it quite easy,” said Jennie, “especially in a large city like London.”

“You have given expression to the universal opinion, but I pledge you my word that a completely successful disappearance is one of the most rare events that we detectives have to meet with in our line of investigation.”

“Please tell me the story,” said the girl; “then we can speak more understandingly about it.”

The detective selected a packet of papers, one of many which occupied the end of his table. He slipped from it a rubber band which held the documents together.

“The first act of the drama, if we may call it so, began at the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball.”

“The Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball!” echoed Jennie, with a shudder. “Oh, dear!”

The detective looked up at her.

“Why do you say ‘Oh, dear’?” he asked.

“Because,” said the girl wearily, “I am tired hearing of the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball; there seems to have been nothing else in the papers for weeks past.”

“It has excited a great deal of comment,” assented the detective; “and, by the way, the _Daily Bugle_ had one of the best accounts of it that was printed in any newspaper.”

“So I have heard,” said Jennie carelessly, “but I most confess that I didn’t read that copy of the _Bugle_.”

“You amaze me! I should have thought that would have been the first part of the paper to which any lady would turn. However, the report of the ball has nothing to do with what we have in hand. Now, you remember the Princess von Steinheimer, at whose castle I first had the pleasure of meeting you?”

“You had the pleasure of meeting me before that,” said Jennie, speaking without giving thought to what she said.

“Really!” cried the detective, dropping his papers on the table; “and where was that?”

“Oh, well, as you have just said--it has nothing to do with this case. Perhaps I was wrong in saying you saw me; it would be more correct to say that I saw you. You must remember that you are a public character, Mr. Taylor.”

“Ah, quite so,” said the detective complacently, turning to his documents again. “Now, the Princess von Steinheimer was invited to the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball, but she did not attend it.”

“Are you sure of that?” said the girl. “I thought her name was among the list of those present.”

“It was in the list, and that is just where our mystery begins. Someone else attended the ball as the Princess von Steinheimer; it is this person that I wish to find.”

“Ah, then you are employed by the Duke of Chiselhurst?”

“No, I am not, for, strangely enough, I believe the Duke thinks it was actually the Princess who attended the ball. Only one man knows that the Princess was not present, one man and two women. Of the latter, one is the Princess von Steinheimer, and the other, the lady who impersonated her. The one man is Lord Donal Stirling, of the Diplomatic Service, whose name is no doubt familiar to you. Lord Donal has done me the honour to place the case in my hands.”

“Why does his lordship wish to find this--this--fraudulent person?”
asked Jennie, speaking slowly and with difficulty.

“Because,” said the detective, with the air of a man who knows whereof he speaks, “he is in love with her.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t think it, I know it. Listen to his description of her.”

The detective chose a paper from among his pile of documents, folded, labelled, and docketed for reference.

“‘The girl is of average height, or perhaps a trifle taller than the average; carries herself superbly, like a born duchess. Her eyes are of a deep, velvety black--’”

“Dear me!” cried the girl, “he describes her as if she were a cat!”

“Wait a moment,” said the detective.

“I don’t see much trace of love in that,” continued Jennie breathlessly.

“Wait a moment,” repeated the detective. “‘They light up and sparkle with merriment, and they melt into the most entrancing tenderness.’”

“Good gracious!” cried Jennie, rising, “the conceit of the man is illimitable. Does he mean to intimate that he saw tenderness for himself in the eyes of a woman he had met for an hour or two?”

“That’s just it,” said the detective, laughing. “You see the man is head over ears in love. Please sit down again, Miss Baxter, and listen. I know this sentimental kind of writing must be irksome to a practical woman like yourself, but in our business we cannot neglect even the slightest detail. Let’s see, where was I?--‘tenderness,’ oh, yes. ‘Her hair is of midnight darkness, inclined to ripple, with little whiffs of curls imperiously defying restraint about her temples. Her complexion is as pure as the dawn, touched now and then with a blush as delicate as the petal of a rose.’”

“Absurd!” cried Jennie impatiently. “The complexion of a woman at a ball! Of course, she put it on for the occasion.”

“Of course,” agreed the detective. “But that merely shows you how deeply in love he is. Lord Donal is quite a young man. He came up to this room to consult with me, and certainly he doesn’t know the difference between a complexion developed in a Surrey lane and one purchased in New Bond Street.”

“Still, the blushing would seem to indicate that the complexion was genuine,” retorted Jennie, apparently quite unflattered by Mr. Taylor’s agreement with the theory she herself had put forward.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I believe modern science enables an enamelled woman to blush at will; I wouldn’t be sure of it, because it is outside of my own line of investigation, but I have understood such is the case.”

“Very likely,” assented Jennie. “What is that you have at the bottom of your packet?”

“That,” said the detective, drawing it forth and handing it to the girl, “is her glove.”

Jennie picked up the glove--which, alas! she had paid for and only worn on one occasion--and smoothed it out between her fingers. It was docketed “G; made by Gaunt et Cie, Boulevard Hausmann; purchased in Paris by one alleging herself to be the Princess von Steinheimer.”

“You have found out all about it,” said Jennie, as she finished reading the label.

“Yes, it is our business to do so; but the glove has not been of much assistance to us.”

“How did he say he became possessed of the glove?” asked the girl innocently. “Did she give it to him?”

“No; he tore it from her hand as she was leaving him in the carriage. It seemed to me a most ungentlemanly thing to do, but of course it was not my business to tell Lord Donal that.”

“So the glove has not been of much assistance to you. Tell me, then, what you have done, and perhaps I shall be the better able to advise you.”

“We have done everything that suggested itself. We traced the alleged Princess from the Hotel Bristol in Pans to Claridge’s in London. I have a very clever woman in Paris who assisted me, and she found where the gloves were bought and where the dress was made. Did I read you Lord Donal’s description of the lady’s costume?”

“No, never mind that; go on with your story.”

“Well, Claridge’s provided carriage, coachman and footman to take her to the ball, and this returned with her sometime about midnight. Now, here a curious thing happened. The lady ordered a hansom as she passed the night-porter and shortly after packed off her maid in the cab.”

“Her maid!” echoed Jennie.

“Yes. The maid came down in ordinary street dress shortly after, deeply veiled, and drove away in the hansom; the lady paid her bill next morning and went to the eight o’clock Paris express, with carriage and pair, coachman and footman. Of course it struck me that it might be the lady herself who had gone off in the cab, but a moment’s reflection showed me that she was not likely to leave the hotel in a cab at midnight, and allow her maid to take the carriage in state next morning.”

“That doesn’t appear reasonable,” murmured Jennie. “You made no attempt, then, to trace the maid?”

“Oh yes, we did. We found the cabman who took her from Claridge’s, and he left her at Charing Cross Station, but there all trace of her vanishes. She probably left on one of the late trains--there are only a few after midnight--to some place out in the country. The lady took a first-class ticket to Paris, and departed alone next morning by the eight o’clock Continental express. My assistant discovered her and took a snapshot of her as she was walking down the boulevard; here is the picture.”

The detective handed Miss Baxter an instantaneous view of one of the boulevards taken in bright sunshine. The principal figure in the foreground Jennie had no difficulty in recognizing as her own maid, dressed in that _chic_ fashion which Parisian women affect.

“She seems to answer the description,” said Jennie.

“So I thought,” admitted the detective, “and I sent the portrait to Lord Donal. See what he has written on the back.”

Jennie turned the picture over, and there under the inscription, “H. Supposed photo of the missing woman,” was written in a bold hand, “Bosh! Read my description of the girl; this is evidently some Paris lady’s maid.”

“Well, what did you do when you got this picture back?” asked Jennie.

“I remembered you, and went to the office of the _Daily Bugle_. This brings us to the present moment. You have now the whole story, and I shall be very pleased to listen to any suggestions you are good enough to offer.”

The girl sat where she was for a few moments and pondered over the situation. The detective, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, regarded her with eager anticipation. The more Jennie thought over the matter, the more she was amazed at the man before her, who seemed unable to place two and two together. He had already spoken of the account of the ball which had appeared in the _Daily Bugle_; of its accuracy and its excellence; he knew that she was a member of the _Bugle_ staff, yet it had never occurred to him to inquire who wrote that description; he knew also that she had been a guest at the Schloss Steinheimer when the invitation to the ball must have reached the Princess. These facts were so plainly in evidence that the girl was afraid to speak lest some chance word would form the connecting link between the detective’s mind and the seemingly palpable facts. At last she looked up, the colour coming and going in her cheeks, as Lord Donal had so accurately described it.

“I don’t think I can be of any assistance to you in this crisis, Mr. Taylor. You have already done everything that human ingenuity can suggest.”

“Yes, I have--everything that _my_ human ingenuity can suggest. But does nothing occur to you? have you no theory to put forward?”

“None that would be of any practical advantage. Is Lord Donal certain that it was not the Princess herself whom he met? Are you thoroughly convinced that there was really an impersonation?”

“What do you mean, Miss Baxter?”

“Well, you met Prince von Steinheimer; what do you think of him?”

“I thought him an overbearing bully, if you ask me. I can’t imagine what English or American girls see in those foreigners to cause them to marry. It is the titles, I suppose. The Prince was very violent--practically ordered me out of the Castle, spoke to his father-in-law in the most peremptory manner, and I could easily see the Princess was frightened out of her wits.”

“A very accurate characterization of his Highness, Mr. Taylor. Now, of course, the Princess being a woman--and a young woman--would naturally be very anxious to attend the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball, wouldn’t she?”

“One would think so.”

“And, as you have just said, she has a bear of a husband, a good deal older than herself, who does not in the least care for such functions as that to which the Princess was invited. Is it not quite possible that the Princess actually attended the ball, but, for reasons of her own, desired to keep the fact of her presence there a secret; and you must remember that Lord Donal Stirling had not seen the Princess for five years.”

“For five years?” said the detective sharply. “How did you learn that, Miss Baxter?”

“Well, you know,” murmured the girl, with a gasp, “he met her last in Washington, and the Princess has not been in America for five years; so you see--”

“Oh, I was not aware that he had met her in America at all; in fact, Lord Donal said nothing much about the Princess--all his talk had reference to this lady who impersonated her.”

Jennie leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed quickly.

“I am afraid,” she said at last, “that I do not remember with sufficient minuteness the details you have given me, to be able to advise. I can only suggest that Lord Donal met the Princess herself at the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball. The Princess, naturally, would wish to mislead him regarding her identity; and so, if he had not met her for some time--say two years, or three years, or five years, or whatever the period may be--it is quite possible that the Princess has changed greatly in the interval, and perhaps she was not reluctant to carry on a flirtation with the young man--your client. Of course, she could not allow it to go further than the outside of the door of the Duke of Chiselhurst’s town house, for you must remember there was her husband in the background--a violent man, as you have said; and Lord Donal must have thoroughly angered the Princess by what you term his rudeness in tearing off her glove; and now the Princess will never admit that she was at the ball, so it seems to me that you are wasting your time in a wild goose chase. Why, it is absurd to think, if there had been a real disappearing woman, that you, with all your experience and all your facilities, should not have unearthed her long ago. You said at the beginning that nothing was more difficult than to disappear. Very well, then--why have you been baffled? Simply because the Princess herself attended the ball, and there has been no disappearing lady at all.”

The detective, with great vehemence, brought down his fist on the table.

“By Jove!” he cried, “I believe you are right. I have been completely blinded, the more so that I have the clue to the mystery right here under my own eyes.”

He fumbled for a moment and brought forth a letter from his pile of documents.

“Here is a note from St. Petersburg, written by Lord Donal himself, saying the Princess had sent him the companion glove to the one you now have in your hand. He says he is sure the Princess knows who her impersonator was, but that she won’t tell; and, although I had read this note, it never struck me that the Princess herself was the woman. Miss Baxter, you have solved the puzzle!”

“I should be glad to think so,” replied the girl, rising, “and I am very happy if I have enabled you to give up a futile chase.”

“It is as plain as daylight,” replied the detective. “Lord Donal’s description fits the Princess exactly, and yet I never thought of her before.”

Jennie hurried away from the detective’s office, happy in the belief that she had not betrayed herself, although she was not blind to the fact that her escape was due more to good luck than to any presence of mind of her own, which had nearly deserted her at one or two points in the conversation. When Mr. Hardwick saw her, he asked how much space he should have to reserve for the romance in high life; but she told him there was nothing in the case, so far as she could see, to interest any sane reader.

Here matters rested for a fortnight; then the girl received an urgent note from Cadbury Taylor, asking her to call at his office next day promptly at four o’clock. It was very important, he said, and he hoped she would on no account disappoint him. Jennie’s first impulse was not to go, but she was so anxious to learn what progress the detective had made in the case, fearing that at last he might have got on the right track, that she felt it would be unwise to take the risk of not seeing him. If his suspicions were really aroused, her absence might possibly serve to confirm them. Exactly at four o’clock next afternoon she entered his office and found him, to her relief, alone. He sprang up from his table on seeing her, and said in a whisper, “I am so glad you have come. I am in rather a quandary. Lord Donal Stirling is in London on a flying visit. He called here yesterday.”

The girl caught her breath, but said nothing.

“I explained to him the reasons I have for believing that it was actually the Princess von Steinheimer whom he met at the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball. He laughed at me; there was no convincing him. He said that theory was more absurd than the sending him a picture of a housemaid as that of the lady he met at the ball. I used all the arguments which you had used, but he brushed them aside as of no consequence, and somehow the case did not appear to be as clear as when you propounded your theory.”

“Well, what then?” asked the girl.

“Why, then I asked him to come up here at four o’clock and hear what an assistant of mine would say about the case.”

“At four o’clock!” cried the girl in terror; “then he may be here at any moment.”

“He is here now; he is in the next room. Come in, and I will introduce you, and then I want you to tell him all the circumstances which lead you to believe that it was the Princess herself whom he met. I am sure you can place all the points before him so tersely that you will succeed in bringing him round to your own way of thinking. You will try, won’t you, Miss Baxter? It will be a very great obligement to me.”

“Oh, no, no, no!” cried the girl; “I am not going to admit to anyone that I have been acting as a detective’s assistant. You had no right to bring me here. I must go at once. If I had known this I would not have come.”

“It won’t take you five minutes,” pleaded Cadbury Taylor. “He is at this moment waiting for you; I told him you would be here at four.”

“I can’t help that; you had no right to make an appointment for me without my knowledge and consent.”

Taylor was about to speak when the door-handle of the inner room turned.

“I say, detective,” remarked Lord Donal, in a voice of some irritation, “you should have assistants who are more punctual. I am a very busy man, and must leave for St. Petersburg to-night, so I can’t spend all my time in your office, you know.”

“I am sure I beg your pardon, my lord,” said the detective with great obsequiousness. “This young lady has some objections to giving her views, but I am sure you will be able to persuade her--”

He turned, but the place at his side was vacant. The door to the hall was open, and the girl had escaped as she saw the handle of the inner door turn. Taylor looked blankly at his client with dropped jaw. Lord Donal laughed.

“Your assistant seems to have disappeared as completely as did the lady at the ball. Why not set your detectives on _her_ track? Perhaps she will prove to be the person I am in search of.”

“I am very sorry, my lord,” stammered the detective.

“Oh, don’t mention it. I am sure you have done all that could be done with the very ineffective clues which unfortunately are our only possession, but you are quite wrong in thinking it was the Princess herself who attended the ball, and I don’t blame your assistant for refusing to bolster up an impossible case. We will consider the search ended, and if you will kindly let me have your bill at the Diplomatic Club before six o’clock to-night, I will send you a cheque. Good afternoon, Mr. Taylor.”

CHAPTER XI. JENNIE ELUDES AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE.

As Jennie rapidly hurried away from the office of Mr. Cadbury Taylor, there arose in her mind some agitation as to what the detective would think of her sudden flight. She was convinced that, up to the moment of leaving him so abruptly, he had not the slightest suspicion she herself, to whom he was then talking, was the person he had been searching for up and down Europe. What must he think of one who, while speaking with him, suddenly, without a word of leave-taking, disappeared as if the earth had opened and swallowed her, and all because the handle of the door to the inner room had turned? Then the excuse she had given for not wishing to meet Lord Donal must have struck him as ridiculously inadequate. When she reached her desk and reflected with more calmness over the situation, she found no cause to censure herself for her hasty departure; although she had acted on impulse, she saw there had been nothing else to do; another moment and she would have been face to face with Lord Donal himself.

Next day brought a note from the detective which went far to reassure her. He apologized for having made the appointment without her permission, and explained that Lord Donal’s unexpected arrival in London, and his stubborn unbelief that it had been the Princess herself whom he met at the ball, seemingly left the detective no alternative out to call on the person who had so persistently advanced the theory, to explain it to the one most intimately concerned. It had not occurred to him at the time to think that Miss Baxter might object to meet Lord Donal, who was an entire stranger to her; but now he saw that he was wrong, etc., etc., etc. This note did much to convince Jennie that, after all, the detective had not seen the clues which appeared to be spread so plainly before his eyes. Cadbury Taylor, however, said nothing about the search being ended, and a few days later Jennie received a disquieting letter from the Princess von Steinheimer.

“My dear Jennie,” her Highness wrote, “I am sure the detectives are after you, and so I thought it best to send you a word of warning. Of course it is only surmise on my part, but for days there has been a woman hovering about the castle, trying to get information from my servants. My maid came directly to me and told me what she knew. The woman detective had spoken to her. This inquisitive person, who had come from Paris, wished particularly to know whether I had been seen about the castle during the week in which the Duchess of Chiselhurst’s ball took place; and so this leads me to suppose that some one is making inquiries for you. It must be either Lord Donal Stirling or the Duke of Chiselhurst, but I rather think it is the former. I have written an indignant letter to Lord Donal, accusing him of having caused detectives to haunt the castle. I have not yet received a reply, but Lord Donal is a truthful person, and in a day or two I expect to find out whether or not he has a hand in this business. Meanwhile, Jennie, be on your guard, and I will write you again as soon as I have something further to tell.”

The reading of this letter greatly increased Jennie’s fears, for she felt assured that, stupid as the men undoubtedly were, they verged so closely on the brink of discovery, they were almost certain to stumble upon the truth if the investigation was continued. She wrote a hurried note to the Princess, imploring her to be cautious, and not inadvertently give any clue that would lead to her discovery. Her letter evidently crossed one from the Princess herself. Lord Donal had confessed, said the letter, and promised never, never to do it again. “He says that before my letter was received he had stopped the detectives, who were doing no good and apparently only annoying innocent people. He says the search is ended, as far as the detective is concerned, and that I need fear no more intrusions from inquiry agents, male or female. He apologized very handsomely, but says he has not given up hopes of finding the lady who disappeared. And now, Jennie, I trust that you will admit my cleverness. You see that I had only a word or two from my maid as a clue, but I unravelled the whole plot and at once discovered who was the instigator of it, so I think I wouldn’t make a bad detective myself. I am tremendously interested in episodes like this. I believe if I had known nothing of the impersonation, and if the case had been put in my hands, I should have discovered you long ago. Can’t you think of some way in which my undoubted talent for research may be made use of? You don’t know how much I envy you in your newspaper office, always with an absorbing mystery on hand to solve. It must be like being the editor of a puzzle department. I wish you would let me help you next time you have anything important to do. Will you promise?

“When you write again, please send your letter to Vienna, as we are going into residence there, my husband having been unexpectedly called to the capital. He holds an important position in the Government, as perhaps you remember.”

Jennie was delighted to know that all inquiry had ceased, and she wrote a long letter of gratitude to the Princess. She concluded her epistle by saying: “It is perfectly absurd of you to envy one who has to work as hard as I. You are the person to be envied. It is not all beer and skittles in a newspaper office, which is a good thing, for I don’t like beer, and I don’t know what skittles is or are. But I promise you that the next time I have an interesting case on hand I shall write and give you full particulars, and I am sure that together we shall be invincible.”

But one trouble leaves merely to give place to another in this life. Jennie was disturbed to notice that Mr. Hardwick was becoming more and more confidential with her. He sat down by her desk whenever there was a reasonable excuse for doing so, and he consulted her on matters important and on matters trivial. An advance of salary came to her, and she knew it was through his influence with the board of directors. Although Mr. Hardwick was sharp and decisive in business matters, he proved an awkward man where his affections were concerned, and he often came and sat by the girl’s desk, evidently wishing to say something, and yet quite as evidently having nothing to say; and thus the situation became embarrassing. Jennie was a practical girl and had no desire to complicate the situation by allowing her employer to fall in love with her, yet it was impossible to go to him and ask that his attentions might be limited strictly to a business basis. The crisis, however, was brought on by Mr. Hardwick himself. One day, when they were alone together, he said abruptly,--

“That romance in high life which you were investigating with Mr. Cadbury Taylor did not come to anything?”

“No, Mr. Hardwick.”

“Then don’t you think we might enact a romance in high life in this very room; it is high enough from the street to entitle it to be called a romance in high life,” and the editor grinned uneasily, like an unready man who hopes to relieve a dilemma by a poor joke.

Jennie, however, did not laugh and did not look up at him, but continued to scribble shorthand notes on the paper before her.

“Ah, Mr. Hardwick!” she said with a sigh, “I see you have discovered my secret, although I had hoped to conceal it even from your alert eyes. I am, indeed, in the situation of _Ralph Rackstraw_ in ‘Pinafore,’ ‘I love, and love, alas! above my station,’ and now that you know half, you may as well know all. It arose out of that unfortunate ball given by the Duchess of Chiselhurst which will haunt me all the rest of my life, I fear,” said Jennie, still without looking up. Mr. Hardwick smothered an ejaculation and was glad that the girl’s eyes were not upon him. There was a pause of a few moments’ duration between them. He took the path which was left open to him, fondly flattering himself that, while he had stumbled inadvertently upon her romance, he had kept his own secret safe.

“I--I have no right to intrude on your confidences, Miss Baxter,”
he said finally with an effort, “and I hope you will excuse me for--for------”

“Oh! I have been sure for some days you knew it,” interrupted the girl, looking up, but not at him. “I have been neglecting my work, I fear, and so you were quite right in speaking.”

“No, your work is all right; it wasn’t that exactly--but never mind, we won’t speak of this any more, for I see it embarrasses you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hardwick,” said Jennie, again bending her eyes on the desk before her.

The man saw the colour come and go in her cheeks, and thought he had never beheld anyone so entrancing. He rose quickly, without making further attempt at explanation, and left the room. One or two tear drops stained the paper on which the girl was scribbling. She didn’t like giving pain to anyone, but could not hold herself to blame for what had happened. She made up her mind to leave the _Daily Bugle_ and seek employment elsewhere, but next day Mr. Hardwick showed no trace of disappointment, and spoke to her with that curt imperiousness which had heretofore been his custom.

“Miss Baxter,” he said, “have you been reading the newspapers with any degree of attention lately?”

“Yes, Mr. Hardwick.”

“Have you been watching the drift of foreign politics?”

“Do you refer to that speech by the Prime Minister of Austria a week or two ago?”

“Yes, that is what I have in my mind. As you know, then, it amounted almost to a declaration of war against England--almost, but not quite. It was a case of saying too much or of not saying enough; however, it was not followed up, and the Premier has been as dumb as a graven image ever since. England has many enemies in different parts of the world, but I must confess that this speech by the Austrian Premier came as a surprise. There must have been something hidden, which is not visible from the outside. The Premier is too astute a man not to know exactly what his words meant, and he was under no delusion as to the manner in which England would take them. It is a case, then, of, ‘When I was so quickly done for, I wonder what I was begun for’--that is what all Europe is asking.”

“Is it not generally supposed, Mr. Hardwick, that his object was to consolidate Austria and Hungary? I understood that local politics were at the bottom of his fiery speech.”

“Quite so, but the rousing of the war spirit in Austria and Hungary was useless unless that spirit is given something to do. It needs a war, not a threat of war, to consolidate Austria and Hungary. If the speech had been followed up by hostile action, or by another outburst that would make war inevitable, I could understand it. The tone of the speech indicates that the Prime Minister meant business at the time he gave utterance to it. Something has occurred meanwhile to change the situation, and what that something is, all the newspapers in Europe have been trying to find out. We have had our regular Vienna representative at work ever since the words were uttered, and for the past two weeks he has been assisted by one of the cleverest men I could send him from London; but up to date, both have failed. Now I propose that you go quietly to Vienna; I shall not let either of the men know you are investigating the affair at which they have laboured with such little success; for both are good men, and I do not want to discourage either of them; still, above all things, I wish to have the solution of this mystery. So it occurred to me last night that you might succeed where others had failed. What do you think of it?”

“I am willing to try,” said Miss Baxter, as there flashed across her mind an idea that here was a case in which the Princess von Steinheimer could be of the greatest assistance to her.

“It has been thought,” went on the editor, “that the Emperor is extremely adverse to having trouble with England or any other country. Still, if that were the case, a new Cabinet would undoubtedly have been formed after this intemperate address of the Premier; but this man still holds his office, and there has been neither explanation nor apology from Court or Cabinet. I am convinced that there is something behind all this, a wheel within a wheel of some sort, because, the day after the speech, there came a rumour from Vienna that an attempt had been made on the life of the Emperor or of the Premier; it was exceedingly vague, but it was alleged that a dynamite explosion had taken place in the palace. This was promptly contradicted, but we all know what official contradictions amount to. There is internal trouble of some kind at the Court of Vienna, and if we could publish the full details, such an article would give us a European reputation. When could you be ready to begin your journey, Miss Baxter?”

“I am ready now.”

“Well, in an affair like this it is best to lose no time; you can go to-morrow morning, then?”

“Oh, certainly, but I must leave the office at once, and you should get someone to finish the work I am on.”

“I will attend to that,” said the editor.

Thus relieved, Jennie betook herself to a telegraph office. She knew that if she wrote a letter to the Princess, who was now in Vienna, she would probably herself reach that city as soon as her note, so she telegraphed that something important was on hand which would take her to Vienna by next day’s Orient express, and intimated that it was a matter in which she might need the assistance of the Princess. Then she hastened to her rooms to pack up. That evening there came an answering telegram from Vienna. The Princess asked her to bring her ball dress and all the rest of her finery. The lady added that she herself would be at the railway station, and asked Jennie to telegraph to her, _en route_, the time of her arrival. It was evident that her Highness was quite prepared to engage in whatever scheme there was on hand, and this fact encouraged Jennie to hope that success perhaps awaited her.

CHAPTER XII. JENNIE TOUCHES THE EDGE OF A GOVERNMENT SECRET.

True to her promise, the Princess von Steinheimer was waiting at the immense railway station of Vienna, and she received her friend with gushing effusion. Jennie left the train as neat as when she had entered it, for many women have the faculty of taking long journeys without showing the dishevelled effect which protracted railway travelling seems to have upon the masculine, and probably more careless, portion of humanity.

“Oh, you dear girl!” cried the Princess; “you cannot tell how glad I am to see you. I was just yearning for someone to talk English to. I am so tired of French and German, although they flatter me by saying that I speak those two languages extremely well; yet English is my own tongue, and it is so delightful to talk with one who can understand every blessed word you say, which you can easily see those who pretend to speak English in Vienna do not. What long chats we shall have! And now come this way to the carriage. There is a man here to look after your luggage. You are coming right home with me and are going to stay with me as long as you are in Vienna. Don’t say, ‘No,’ nor make any excuse, nor talk of going to an hotel, for a suite of rooms is all ready for you, and your luggage will be there before we are. Now let us enter the carriage, for I am just pining to hear what it is you have on hand. Some delicious scandal, I hope.”

“No,” answered Jennie; “it pertains to Government matters.”

“Oh, dear!” cried the Princess; “how tiresome! Politics are so dull.”

“I don’t think this case is dull,” said Jennie; “because it has brought Austria and England to the verge of war.”

“What a dreadful idea! I hadn’t heard anything of it. When did this happen?”

“Less than a month ago,” and Jennie related the whole circumstance, giving a synopsis of the Premier’s speech.

“But I see nothing in that speech to cause war,” protested the Princess. “It is as mild as new milk.”

“I don’t pretend to understand diplomacy,” continued Jennie, blushing slightly as she remembered Lord Donal; and it seemed that the same thought struck the Princess at the same moment, for she looked quizzically at Jennie and burst out into a laugh.

“You may laugh,” cried the girl; “but I tell you that this is a serious business. They say it only needed a second ‘new milk’ speech from the Premier to have England answer most politely in words of honey, and next instant the two countries would have been at each other’s throats.”

“Suppose we write to Lord Donal in St. Petersburg,” suggested the Princess, still laughing, “and ask him to come to Vienna and help us? He understands all about diplomacy. By the way, Jennie, did Lord Donal ever find out whom he met at the ball that night?”

“No, he didn’t,” answered Miss Baxter shortly.

“Don’t you ever intend to let him know? Are you going to leave the romance unfinished, like one of Henry James’s novels?”

“It isn’t a romance; it is simply a very distressing incident which I have been trying to forget ever since. It is all very well for you to laugh, but if you ever mention the subject again I’ll leave you and go to an hotel.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” chirruped the Princess brightly; “you daren’t. You know I hold all the trump cards; at any time I can send a letter to Lord Donal and set the poor young man’s mind at rest. So you see, Miss Jennie, you will have to talk very sweetly and politely to me and not make any threats, because I am like those dreadful persons in the sensational plays who possess the guilty secrets of other people and blackmail them. But you are a nice girl, and I won’t say anything you don’t want to hear said. Now, what is it you wish to find out about this political crisis?”

“I want to discover why the Premier did not follow up his speech with another. He must have known when he spoke how his words would be taken in England; therefore it is thought that he had some plans which unforeseen circumstances intervening have nullified. I want to know what those unforeseen circumstances were, and what these plans were. For the past fortnight the _Daily Bugle_ has had two men here in Vienna trying to throw some light on the dark recesses of diplomacy. Up to date they have failed, but at any moment they may succeed; it was because they failed that I am sent here. Now, have you anything to suggest, Madame la Princesse?”

“I suggest, Jennie, that we put our heads together and learn all that those diplomatists wish to hide. Have you no plans yourself?”

“I have no very definite plan, but I have a general scheme. These men I spoke of are trying to discover what other men are endeavouring to conceal. All the officials are on their guard; they are highly placed, and are not likely to be got at by bribery. They are clever, alert men of the world, so hoodwinking them is out of the question; therefore I think my two fellow journalists have a difficult task before them.”

“But it is the same task that you have before you; why is it not as difficult for you, Jennie, as for them?”

“Because I propose to work with people who are not on their guard, and there is where you can help me, if you are not shocked at my proposal. Each official has a wife, or at least most of them have. Some of these wives, in all probability, possess the information that we would like to get. Women will talk more freely with women than men will with men. Now, I propose to leave the officials severely alone and to interview their wives.”

The Princess clapped her hands.

“Excellent!” she cried. “The women of Vienna are the greatest gossips you ever heard chattering together. I have never taken any interest in politics, otherwise I suppose I might have become possessed of some important Government secrets. Now, Jennie, I’ll tell you what I propose doing. I shall give a formal tea next Thursday afternoon. I shall invite to that tea a dozen, or two dozen, or three dozen wives of influential officials about the Court. My husband will like that, because he is always complaining that I do not pay enough attention to the ladies of the political circle of Vienna. He takes a great interest in politics, you know. If we discover nothing at the first tea-meeting, we will have another, and another, and another, until we do. We are sure to invite the right woman on one of those occasions, and when we find her I’ll warrant the secret will soon belong to us. Ah, here we are at home, and we will postpone the discussion of our delightful conspiracy until you have had something to eat and are rested a bit.”

The carriage drew up at the magnificent palace, well known in Vienna, which belongs to the Prince von Steinheimer; and shortly afterwards Jennie Baxter found herself in possession of the finest suite of rooms she had ever beheld in her life. Jennie laughed as she looked round her apartment and noted its luxuriant appointments.

“These are not exactly what we should call ‘diggings’ in London, are they?” she said to the Princess, who stood by her side, delighted at the pleasure of her friend. “We often read of poor penny-a-liners in their garrets; but I don’t think any penny-a-liner ever had such a garret as this placed at his disposal.”

“I knew you would like the rooms,” cried the Princess gaily. “I like them myself, and I hope they will help to induce you to stay in Vienna as long as you can. I have given you my own maid Gretlich, and I assure you it isn’t every friend I would lend her to; she is a model servant.”

“Oh, but you mustn’t do that,” said Jennie. “I cannot rob you of your maid and also be selfish enough to monopolize these rooms.”

“You are not robbing me; in fact, I am, perhaps, a little artful in giving you Gretlich, for she is down in the dumps this last week or two, and I don’t know what in the world is the matter with her. I suspect it is some love affair; but she will say nothing, although I have asked her time and again what is the trouble. Now, you are such a cheery, consoling young woman that I thought if Gretlich were in your service for a time she might brighten up and be her own self again. So you see, instead of robbing me, I am really taking advantage of your good nature.”

“I am afraid you are just saying that to make it easier for me to be selfish; still, you are so generous, Princess, that I am not going to object to anything you do, but just give myself up to luxury while I stay in Vienna.”

“That is right. Ah, here is Gretlich. Now, Gretlich, I want you to help make Miss Baxter’s stay here so pleasant that she will never want to leave us.”

“I shall do my best, your Highness,” said the girl, with quiet deference.

The Princess left the two alone together, and Jennie saw that Gretlich was not the least ornamental appendage to the handsome suite of rooms. Gretlich was an excellent example of that type of fair women for which Vienna is noted; but she was, as the Princess had said, extremely downcast, and Jennie, who had a deep sympathy for all who worked, spoke kindly to the girl and endeavoured to cheer her. There was something of unaccustomed tenderness in the compassionate tones of Jennie’s voice that touched the girl, for, after a brief and ineffectual effort at self-control, she broke down and wept. To her pitying listener she told her story. She had been betrothed to a soldier whose regiment was stationed in the Burg. When last the girl saw her lover he was to be that night on guard in the Treasury. Before morning a catastrophe of some kind occurred. The girl did not know quite what had happened. Some said there had been a dreadful explosion and her lover had lost his life. Neither the soldier’s relatives nor his betrothed were allowed to see him after the disaster. He had been buried secretly, and it appeared to be the intention of the authorities to avoid all publicity. The relatives and the betrothed of the dead soldier had been warned to keep silence and seek no further information. It was not till several days after her lover’s death that Gretlich, anxious because he did not keep his appointment with her, and not hearing from him, fearing that he was ill, began to make inquiries; then she received together the information and the caution.

In the presence of death all consolers are futile, and Jennie realized this as she endeavoured as well as she could to comfort the girl. Her heart was so much enlisted in this that perhaps her intellect was the less active; but here she stood on the very threshold of the secret she had come to Vienna to discover, and yet had not the slightest suspicion that the girl’s tragedy and her own mission were interwoven. Jennie had wondered at the stupidity of Cadbury Taylor, who failed to see what seemed so plainly before him, yet here was Jennie herself come a thousand miles, more or less, to obtain certain information, and here a sobbing girl was narrating the very item of news that she had come so far to learn--all of which would seem to show that none of us are so bright and clever as we imagine ourselves to be.

In the afternoon the Princess entered Jennie’s sitting-room carrying in her hand a bunch of letters.

“There!” she cried, “while you have been resting I have been working, and we are not going to allow any time to be lost. I have written with my own hand invitations to about two dozen people to our tea on Thursday; among others, the wife of the Premier, Countess Stron. I expect you to devote yourself to that lady and tell me the result of the conversation after it is over. Have you been talking consolation to Gretlich? I came up here half an hour ago, and it seemed to me I heard the sound of crying in this room.”

“Oh, yes,” said Jennie, “she has been telling me all her trouble. It seems she had a lover in the army, and he has been killed in some accident in the Treasury.”

“What kind of an accident?”

“Gretlich said there had been an explosion there.”

“Dear me! I never heard of it. It is a curious thing that one must come from London to tell us our own news. An explosion in the Treasury! and so serious that a soldier was killed! That arouses my curiosity, so I shall just sit down and write another invitation to the wife of the Master of the Treasury.”

“I wish you would, because I should like to know something further about this myself. Gretlich seems to have had but scant information regarding the occurrence, and I should like to know more about it so that I might tell her.”

“We shall learn all about it from madame, and I must write that note at once for fear I forget it.”

CHAPTER XIII. JENNIE INDULGES IN TEA AND GOSSIP.

On Thursday afternoon there was a brilliant assemblage in the spacious salon of the Princess von Steinheimer. The rich attire of the ladies formed a series of kinetographic pictures that were dazzling, for Viennese women are adepts in the art of dress, as are their Parisian sisters. Tea was served, not in cups and saucers, as Jennie had been accustomed to seeing it handed round, but in goblets of clear, thin Venetian glass, each set in a holder of encrusted filigree gold. There were all manner of delicious cakes, for which the city is celebrated. The tea itself had come overland through Russia from China and had not suffered the deterioration which an ocean voyage produces. The decoction was served clear, with sugar if desired, and a slice of lemon, and Jennie thought it the most delicious brew she had ever tasted.

“I am so sorry,” whispered the Princess to Jennie when an opportunity occurred, “but the Countess Stron has sent a messenger to say that she cannot be present this afternoon. It seems her husband, the Premier, is ill, and she, like a good wife, remains at home to nurse him. This rather upsets our plans, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Jennie. “It is more than likely that the wife of the Premier would be exceedingly careful not to discuss any political question in this company. I have counted more upon the wife of a lesser official than upon the Countess Stron.”

“You are right,” said the Princess, “and now come with me. I want to introduce you to the wife of the Master of the Treasury, and from her, perhaps, you can learn something of the accident that befell the lover of poor Gretlich.”

The wife of the Master of the Treasury proved to be a garrulous old lady who evidently prided herself on knowing everything that was taking place about her. Jennie and she became quite confidential over their goblets of tea, a beverage of which the old lady seemed inordinately fond. As the conversation between them drifted on, Jennie saw that here was a person who would take a delight in telling everything she knew, and the only question which now arose was whether she knew anything Jennie wished to learn. But before she tried her on high politics the girl determined to find out more about the disaster that had made such an abrupt ending to Gretlich’s young dream.

“I have been very much interested,” she said, “in one of the maids here who lost her lover some weeks ago in an accident that occurred in the Treasury. The maid doesn’t seem to know very much about what happened, and was merely told that her lover, a soldier who had been on guard there that night, was dead.”

“Oh, dear, yes!” whispered the old lady, lowering her voice, “what a dreadful thing that was, four men killed and eight or nine now in the hospital. My poor husband has had hardly a wink of sleep since the event, and the Premier is ill in bed through the worry.”

“Because of the loss of life?” asked Jennie innocently.

“Oh, no, no! the loss of life wouldn’t matter; it is the loss of the money that is the serious thing, and how they are going to replace it or account for its disappearance I am sure I don’t know. The deficiency is something over two hundred million florins. Was it not awful?”

“Was the building shattered to such an extent?” inquired Jennie, who did not stop to think that such a sum would replace any edifice in Vienna, even if it had been wiped off the face of the earth.

“The Treasury was damaged, of course, but the cost of repairs will not be great. No, my child, it is a much more disturbing affair than the destruction of any state house in the Empire. What has made the Premier ill, and what is worrying my poor husband into an untimely grave, is nothing less than the loss of the war chest.”

“The war chest!” echoed Jennie, “what is that?”

“My dear, every great nation has a war chest. England has one, so has France, Germany, Russia--no matter how poor a nation may be, or how difficult it is to collect the taxes, that nation must have a war chest. If war were to break out suddenly, even with the most prosperous country, there would be instant financial panic; ready money would be difficult to obtain; a loan would be practically impossible; and what war calls for the very instant it is declared is money--not promises of money, not paper money, not silver money even, but gold; therefore, every nation which is in danger of war has a store of gold coin. This store is not composed mainly, or even largely, of the coins of the nation which owns the store; it consists of the sovereigns of England, the louis of France, the Willems d’or of Holland, the eight-florin pieces of Austria, the double-crown of Germany, the half-imperials of Russia, the double-Frederics of Denmark, and so on. All gold, gold, gold! I believe that in the war chest of Austria there were deposited coins of different nations to the value of something like two hundred million florins. My husband never told me exactly how much was there, but sometimes when things looked peaceable there was less money in the war chest than when there was imminent danger of the European outbreak which we all fear. The war chest of Austria was in a stone-vaulted room, one of the strongest dungeons in the Treasury. The public are admitted into several rooms of the Treasury, but no stranger is ever allowed into that portion of the building which houses the war chest. This room is kept under guard night and day. For what happened, my husband feels that he is in no way to blame, and I don’t think his superiors are inclined to charge him with neglect of duty. It is a singular thing that the day before the disaster took place he of his own accord doubled the guard that watched over the room and also the approaches to it. The war chest was at its fullest. Never, so he tells me, was there so much money in the war chest as at that particular time. Something had occurred that in his opinion called for extra watchfulness, and so he doubled the guard. But about midnight there was a tremendous explosion. The strong door communicating with the passage was wrenched from its hinges and flung outwards into the hallway. It is said that dynamite must have been used, and that in a very large quantity. Not a vestige of the chest remained but a few splintered pieces of iron. The four soldiers in the room were blown literally to pieces, and those in the passage-way were stunned by the shock. The fact that they were unconscious for some minutes seems to have given the criminal, whoever he was, his chance of escape. For, although an instant alarm was sent out, and none but those who had a right to be on the premises were allowed out of or in the Treasury, yet no one was caught, nor has anyone been caught up to this day.”

“But the gold, the gold?” cried Jennie eagerly.

“There was not a florin of it left. Every piece has disappeared. It is at once the most clever and the most gigantic robbery of money that has taken place within our knowledge.”

“But such a quantity of gold,” said Jennie, “must have been of enormous weight. Two hundred million florins! Why, that is twenty million pounds, isn’t it? It would take a regiment of thieves to carry so much away. How has that been done? And where is the gold concealed?”

“Ah, my child, if you can answer your own questions the Austrian Government will pay you almost any sum you like to name. The police are completely baffled. Of course, nothing has been said of this gigantic robbery; but every exit from Vienna is watched, and not only that, but each frontier is guarded. What the Government wants, of course, is to get back its gold, the result of years of taxation, which cannot very easily be re-levied.”

“And when did this robbery take place?” asked Jennie.

“On the night of the 17th.”

“On the night of the 17th,” repeated the girl, more to herself than to the voluble old woman; “and it was on the 16th that the Premier made his war speech.”

“Exactly,” said the old lady, who overheard the remark not intended for her ears; “and don’t you think there was something striking in the coincidence?”

“I don’t quite understand. What coincidence?”

“Well, you know the speech of the Premier was against England. It was not a speech made on the spur of the moment, but was doubtless the result of many consultations, perhaps with Russia, perhaps with Germany, or with France--who knows? We have been growing very friendly with Russia of late; and as England has spies all over the world, doubtless her Government knew before the speech was made that it was coming; so the police appear to think that the whole resources of the British Government were set at the task of crippling Austria at a critical moment.”

“Surely you don’t mean, madame, that the Government of England would descend to burglary, robbery--yes, and murder, even, for the poor soldiers who guarded the treasure were as effectually murdered as if they had been assassinated in the street? You don’t imagine that the British Government would stoop to such deeds as these?”

The old lady shook her head wisely.

“By the time you are my age, my dear, and have seen as much of politics as I have, you will know that Governments stop at nothing to accomplish their ends. No private association of thieves could have laid such plans as would have done away with two hundred millions of florins in gold, unless they had not only ample resources, but also a master brain to direct them. Nations hesitate at nothing where their interests are concerned. It was to the interest of no other Empire but England to deplete Austria at this moment, and see how complete her machinations are. No nation trusts another, and if Austria had proof that England is at the bottom of this robbery, she dare not say anything, because her war chest is empty. Then, again, she cannot allow either Germany or Russia to know how effectually she has been robbed, for no one could tell what either of these nations might do under the circumstances. The Government fears to let even its own people know what has happened. It is a stroke of vengeance marvellous in its finality. Austria is crippled for years to come, unless she finds the stolen gold on her own territory.”

The old lady had worked herself up into such a state of excitement during her recital that she did not notice that most of her companion visitors had taken their leave, and when the Princess approached the two, she arose with some trepidation.

“My dear Princess,” she said, “your tea has been so good, and the company of your young compatriot has been so charming, that I have done nothing but chatter, chatter, chatter away about things which should only be spoken of under one’s breath, and now I must hurry away. May I venture to hope that you will honour me with your presence at one of my receptions if I send you a card?”

“I shall be delighted to do so,” replied the Princess, with that gracious condescension which became her so well.

The garrulous old lady was the last to take her leave, and when the Princess was left alone with her guest, she cried,--

“Jennie, I have found out absolutely nothing, what have you discovered?”

“Everything!” replied the girl, walking up and down the floor in excitement over the unearthing of such a bonanza of news.

“You don’t tell me so! Now do sit down and let me know the full particulars at once.”

When Jennie’s exciting story was finished she said,--

“You see, this robbery explains why the Premier did not follow up his warlike speech. The police seem to think that England has had a hand in this robbery, but of course that is absurd.”

“I am not so sure of that,” replied the Princess, taking as she spoke, the Chicago point of view, and forgetting for the moment her position among the aristocracy of Europe. “England takes most things it can get its hands on, and she is not too slow to pick up a gold mine here and there, so why should she hesitate when the gold is already minted for her?”

“It is too absurd for argument,” continued Jennie calmly, “so we won’t talk of that phase of the subject. I must get away to England instantly. Let us find out when the first train leaves.”

“Nonsense!” protested the Princess; “what do you need to go to England for? You have seen nothing of Vienna.”

“Oh, I can see Vienna another time; I must get to England with this account of the robbery.”

“Won’t your paper pay for telegraphing such an important piece of news?

“Oh, yes; there would be no difficulty about that, but I dare not trust either the post or the telegraph in a case like this. The police are on the watch.”

“But couldn’t you send it through by a code? My father always used to do his cabling by code; it saved a lot of money and also kept other people from knowing what his business was.”

“I have a code, but I hesitate about trusting even to that.”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said the Princess. “I want you to stay in Vienna.”

“Oh, I shall return,” said Jennie. “I’ve only just had a taste of this delightful city. I’ll come right back.”

“I can’t trust you to do anything of the kind. When you get to London you will stay there. Now here is what I propose, and it will have the additional advantage of saving your paper a day. We will run down together into Italy--to Venice; then you can take along your code and telegraph from there in perfect safety. When that is done you will return here to Vienna with me. And another thing, you may be sure your editor will want you to stay right here on the spot to let him know of any outcome of this sensational _dénouement_.”

“That isn’t a bad idea,” murmured Jennie. “How long will it take us to get to Venice?”

“I don’t know, but I am sure it will save you hours compared with going to London. I shall get the exact time for you in a moment.”

Jennie followed the suggestion of the Princess, and together the two went to the ever-entrancing city of Venice. By the time they reached there, Jennie had her account written and coded. The long message was handed in at the telegraph office as soon as the two arrived in Venice. Jennie also sent the editor a private despatch giving her address in Venice, and also telling him the reason for sending the telegram from Italy rather than from Austria or Germany. In the evening she received a reply from Mr. Hardwick. “This is magnificent,” the telegram said. “I doubt if anything like it has ever been done before. We will startle the world to-morrow morning. Please return to Vienna, for, as you have discovered this much, I am perfectly certain that you will be able to capture the robbers. Of course all the police and all the papers of Europe will be on the same scent, but I am sure that you will prove a match for the whole combination.”

“Oh, dear!” cried Jennie, as she handed the message to her friend. “What a bothersome world this is; there is no finality about anything. One piece of work simply leads to another. Here I thought I had earned at least a good month’s rest, but, instead of that, a further demand is made upon me. I am like the genii in fairy tales: no sooner is one apparently impossible task accomplished than another is set.”

“But what a magnificent thing it would be if you could discover the robber or robbers.”

“Magnificent enough, yes; but that isn’t to be done by inviting a lot of old women to tea, is it?”

“True, so we shall have to set our wits together in another direction. I tell you, Jennie, I know I have influence enough to have you made a member of the special police. Shall I introduce you as from America, and say that you have made a speciality of solving mysteries? An appointment to the special police would allow you to have unrestricted entrance to the secret portion of the Treasury building. You would see the rooms damaged by the explosion, and you would learn what the police have discovered. With that knowledge to begin with, we might then do something towards solving the problem.”

“Madame la Princesse,” cried Jennie enthusiastically, “you are inspired! The very thing. Let us get back to Vienna.” And accordingly the two conspirators left Italy by the night train for Austria.

CHAPTER XIV. JENNIE BECOMES A SPECIAL POLICE OFFICER.

When Jennie returned to Vienna, and was once more installed in her luxurious rooms at the Palace Steinheimer, she received in due time a copy of the _Daily Bugle_, sent to her under cover as a registered letter. The girl could not complain that the editor had failed to make the most of the news she had sent him. As she opened out the paper she saw the great black headlines that extended across two columns, and the news itself dated not from Venice, but from Vienna, was in type much larger than that ordinarily used in the paper, and was double-leaded. The headings were startling enough:--

PHANTOM GOLD.

THE MOST GIGANTIC ROBBERY OF MODERN TIMES.

THE AUSTRIAN WAR CHEST DYNAMITED.

TWENTY MILLION POUNDS IN COIN LOOTED.

APPALLING DISASTER AT THE TREASURY IN VIENNA.

FOUR MEN KILLED, AND SIXTEEN OTHERS MORE OR LESS SERIOUSLY
INJURED.

“Dear me!” the Princess cried, peering over Jennie’s shoulder at these amazing headings, “how like home that looks. The _Bugle_ doesn’t at all resemble a London journal; it reminds me of a Chicago paper’s account of a baseball match; a baseball match when Chicago was winning, of course, and when Anson had lined out the ball from the plate to the lake front, and brought three men in on a home run at a critical point in the game.”

“Good gracious!” cried Jennie, “what language are you speaking? Is it slang, or some foreign tongue?”

“It is pure Chicagoese, Jennie, into which I occasionally lapse even here in prim Vienna. I would like to see a good baseball match, with the Chicago nine going strong. Let us abandon this effete monarchy, Jennie, and pay a visit to America.”

“I’ll go with pleasure if you will tell me first who robbed the war chest. If you can place your dainty forefinger on the spot that conceals two hundred million florins in gold, I’ll go anywhere with you.”

“Oh, yes, that reminds me. I spoke to my husband this morning, and asked him if he could get you enrolled as a special detective, and he said there would be some difficulty in obtaining such an appointment for a woman. Would you have any objection to dressing up as a nice young man, Jennie?”

“I would very much rather not; I hope you didn’t suggest that to the Prince.”

The Princess laughed merrily and shook her head.

“No, I told him that I believed that you would solve the mystery if anyone could, and, remembering what you had done in that affair of my diamonds, my husband has the greatest faith in your powers as an investigator; but he fears the authorities here will be reluctant to allow a woman to have any part in the search. They have very old-fashioned ideas about women in Austria, and think her proper place is presiding over a tea-table.”

“Well, if they only knew it,” said Jennie archly, “some things have been discovered over a teacup within our own memories.”

“That is quite true,” replied the Princess, “but we can hardly give the incident as a recommendation to the Austrian authorities. By the way, have you noticed that no paper in Vienna has said a single word about the robbery of the war chest?”

“It must have been telegraphed here very promptly from London, and yet they do not even deny it, which is the usual way of meeting the truth.”

While they were talking, a message came from his Highness, asking if he might take the liberty of breaking in upon their conference. A few moments after, the Prince himself entered the apartment and bowed with courtly deference to the two ladies.

“I have succeeded,” he said, “beyond my expectations. It seems that a newspaper in London has published an account of the whole affair, and the police, who were at their wits end before, are even more flustered now that the account of the robbery has been made public. By the way, how did you learn anything about this robbery? It did not strike me at the time you spoke about Miss Baxter’s commission this morning, but I have been wondering ever since.”

“Jennie received a paper from London,” said the Princess hurriedly, “which said the war chest of Austria had been robbed of two hundred million florins, but there is nothing about it in the Vienna Press.”

“No,” replied the Prince; “nor is there likely to be. The robbery is now known to all the world except Austria, and I imagine nothing will be said about it here.”

“Is there, then, any truth in the report?” asked the Princess innocently.

“Truth! It’s all truth; that is just where the trouble is. There is little use of our denying it, because this London paper is evidently well informed, and to deny it we should have to publish something about the robbery itself, which we are not inclined to do. It is known, however, who the two correspondents of this London paper are, and I believe the police are going to make it so interesting for those two gentlemen that they will be glad to leave Vienna, for a time at least. Of course, nothing can be done openly, because Englishmen make such a fuss when their liberties are encroached upon. One of the young men has been lured across the frontier by a bogus telegram, and I think the authorities will see that he does not get back in a hurry; the other we expect to be rid of before long. Of course, we could expel him, but if we did, it would be thought that we had done so because he had found out the truth about the explosion.”

“How did you learn of the explosion?” asked the Princess.

“Oh, I have known all about the affair ever since it happened.”

The Princess gave Jennie a quick look, which said as plainly as words, “Here was the news that we wanted in our household, and we never suspected it.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” cried the Princess indignantly.

“Well, you see, my dear, you never took much interest in politics, and I did not think the news would have any attraction for you; besides,” he added, with a smile, “we were all cautioned to keep the matter as secret as possible.”

“And wonderfully well you have managed it!” exclaimed the Princess. “That shows what comes of trusting a secret to a lot of men; here it is, published to all the world.”

“Not quite all the world my dear. As I have said, Austria will know nothing regarding it.”

“The Princess tells me,” said Jennie, “that you were kind enough to endeavour to get me permission to make some investigation into this mystery. Have you succeeded?”

“Yes, Miss Baxter, as I said, I have succeeded quite beyond my expectations, for the lady detective is comparatively an innovation in Vienna. However, the truth is, the police are completely in a fog, and they are ready to welcome help from whatever quarter it comes. Here is a written permit from the very highest authority, which you do not need to use except in a case of emergency. Here is also an order from the Chief of Police, which will open for you every door in Vienna; and finally, here is a badge which you can pin on some not too conspicuous portion of your clothing. This badge, I understand, is rarely given out. It is partly civil and partly military. You can show it to any guard, who will, on seeing it, give you the right-of-way. In case he does not, appeal to his superior officer, and allow him to read your police permit. Should that fail, then play your trump card, which is this highly important document. The Director of the Police, who is a very shrewd man, seemed anxious to make your acquaintance before you began your investigation. He asked me if you would call upon him, but seemed taken aback when I told him you were my wife’s friend and a guest at our house, so he suggested that you would in all probability wish first to see the scene of the explosion, and proposed that he should call here with his carriage and accompany you to the Treasury. He wished to know if four o’clock in the afternoon would suit your convenience!”

“Oh, yes!” replied Jennie. “I am eager to begin at once, and, of course, I shall be much obliged to him if he will act as my guide in the vaults of the Treasury, and tell me how much they have already discovered.”

“You must not expect much information from the police--in fact, I doubt if they have discovered anything. Still, if they have, they are more than likely to keep it to themselves; and I imagine they will hold a pretty close watch on you, being more anxious to learn what you discover, and thus take the credit if they can, than to furnish you with any knowledge of the affair they may happen to possess.”

“That is quite natural, and only what one has a right to expect. I don’t wish to rob the police of whatever repute there is to be gained from this investigation, and I am quite willing to turn over to them any clues I may happen to chance upon.”

“Well, if you can convince the Director of that, you will have all the assistance he can give you. It wouldn’t be bad tactics to let him know that you are acting merely in an amateur way, and that you have no desire to rob the police of their glory when it comes to the solving of the problem.” Promptly at four o’clock the Director of the Police put in an appearance at the Palace Steinheimer. He appeared to be a most obsequious, highly decorated old gentleman, in a very resplendent uniform, and he could hardly conceal his surprise at learning that the lady detective was a woman so young and so pretty. Charmed as he was to find himself in the company of one so engaging, it was nevertheless evident to Jennie that he placed no very high estimate on the assistance she might be able to give in solving the mystery of the Treasury. This trend of mind, she thought, had its advantages, for the Director would be less loth to give her full particulars of what had already been accomplished by the police.

Jennie accompanied the Director to that extensive mass of buildings of which the Treasury forms a part. The carriage drew up at a doorway, and here the Director and his companion got out. He led the way into the edifice, then, descending a stair, entered an arched corridor, at the door of which two soldiers stood on guard, who saluted as the Chief passed them.

“Does this lead to the room where the explosion took place?” asked Jennie. “Yes.” “And is this the only entrance?” “The only entrance, madame.” “Were the men on guard in this doorway injured by the explosion?” “Yes. They were not seriously injured, but were rendered incapable for a time of attending to their duties.” “Then a person could have escaped without their seeing him?” “A whole regiment of persons might have escaped. You will understand the situation exactly if I compare this corridor to a long cannon, the room at the end being the breech-loading chamber. Two guards were inside the room, and two others stood outside the door that communicated with this corridor. These four men were killed instantly. Of the guards inside the room not a vestige has been found. The door, one of the strongest that can be made, somewhat similar to the door of a safe, was flung outward and crushed to the floor the two guards who stood outside it in the corridor. Between the chamber in which the chest lay and the outside entrance were sixteen men on guard. Every one of these was flung down, for the blast, if I may call it so, travelled through this straight corridor like the charge along the inside of the muzzle of a gun. The guards nearest the treasure chamber were, of course, the more seriously injured, but those further out did not escape the shock, and the door by which we entered this corridor, while not blown from its hinges, was nevertheless forced open, its strong bolts snapping like matches. So when you see the great distance that intervened between the chamber and that door, you will have some idea of the force of the explosion.”

“There is no exit, then, from the treasure chamber except along this corridor?”

“No, madame. The walls at the outside of the chamber are of enormous strength, because, of course, it was expected that if an attempt at robbery were ever made, it would be made from the outside, and it is scarcely possible that even the most expert of thieves could succeed in passing two guards at the door, sixteen officers and soldiers along the corridor, two outside the Treasury door, and two in the chamber itself. Such a large number of soldiers were kept here so that any attempt at bribery would be impossible. Among such a number one or two were sure to be incorruptible, and the guards were constantly changed. Seldom was either officer or man twice on duty here during the month. With such a large amount at stake every precaution was taken.”

“Are there any rooms at the right or left of this corridor in which the thieves could have concealed themselves while they fired the mine?”

“No, the corridor leads to the treasure chamber alone.”

“Then,” said Jennie, “I can’t see how it was possible for a number of men to have made away with the treasure in such circumstances as exist here.”

“Nevertheless, my dear young lady, the treasure is gone. We think that the mine was laid with the connivance of one or more officers on duty here. You see the amount at stake was so large that a share of it would tempt any nine human beings out of any ten. Our theory is that the train was laid, possibly electric wires being used, which would be unnoticed along the edge of the corridor, and that the bribed officer exploded the dynamite by bringing the ends of the wires into contact. We think the explosion was a great deal more severe than was anticipated. Probably, it was expected that the shock would break a hole from the treasure chamber to the street, but so strong were the walls that no impression was made upon them, and a cabman who was driving past at the time heard nothing of the sound of the explosion, though he felt a trembling of the ground, and thought for a moment there had been a shock of earthquake.”

“You think, then, that the thieves were outside?”

“That seems the only possible opinion to hold.”

“The outside doors were locked and bolted, of course?”

“Oh, certainly; but if they had a confederate or two in the large hallway upstairs, these traitors would see to it that there was no trouble about getting in. Once inside the large hallway, with guards stunned by the shock, the way to the treasure chamber was absolutely clear.”

“There were sentries outside the building, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“Did they see any vehicle driving near the Treasury?”

“No, except the cab I spoke of, and the driver has accounted satisfactorily for his time that night. The absence of any conveyance is the strange part of it; and, moreover, the sentries, although pacing outside the walls of this building, heard nothing of the concussion beyond a low rumble, and those who thought of the matter at all imagined an explosion had occurred in some distant part of the city.”

“Then the outside doors in the large hall above were not blown open?”

“No; the officer reports that they were locked and bolted when he examined them, which was some minutes, of course, after the disaster had taken place; for he, the officer in charge, had been thrown down and stunned, seemingly by the concussion of air which took place.”

As Jennie walked down the corridor, she saw more and more of the evidences of the convulsion. The thick iron-bound door lay where it had fallen, and it had not been moved since it was lifted to get the two men from under it. Its ponderous hinges were twisted as if they had been made of glue, and its massive bolts were snapped across like bits of glass. All along the corridor on the floor was a thick coating of dust and _débris_, finely powdered, growing deeper and deeper until they came to the entrance of the room. There was no window either in corridor or chamber, and the way was lit by candles held by soldiers who accompanied them. The scoria crunched under foot as they walked, and in the chamber itself great heaps of dust, sand and plaster, all pulverized into minute particles, lay in the corners of the room, piled up on one side higher than a man’s head. There seemed to be tons of this _débris_, and, as Jennie looked up at the arched ceiling, resembling the roof of a vaulted dungeon, she saw that the stone itself had been ground to fine dust with the tremendous force of the blast.

“Where are the remnants of the treasure chest?” she asked.

The Director shook his head. “There are no remnants; not a vestige of it is to be found.”

“Of what was it made?”

“We used to have an old treasure chest here made of oak, bound with iron; but some years ago, a new receptacle being needed, one was especially built of hardened steel, constructed on the modern principles of those burglar-proof and fire-proof safes.”

“And do you mean to say that there is nothing left of this?”

“Nothing that we have been able to discover.”

“Well, I have seen places where dynamite explosions have occurred, but I know of nothing to compare with this. I am sure that if dynamite has been used, or any explosive now generally obtainable, there would have been left, at least, some remnant of the safe. Hasn’t this pile of rubbish been disturbed since the explosion?”

“Yes, it has been turned over; we made a search for the two men, but we found no trace of them.”

“And you found no particles of iron or steel?”

“The heap throughout is just as you see it on the surface--a fine, almost impalpable dust. We had to exercise the greatest care in searching through it, for the moment it was disturbed with a shovel it filled the air with suffocating clouds. Of course we shall have it removed by-and-by, and carted away, but I considered it better to allow it to remain here until we had penetrated somewhat further into the mystery than we have already done.”

Jennie stooped and picked up a handful from the heap, her action caused a mist to rise in the air that made them both choke and cough, and yet she was instantly struck by the fact that her handful seemed inordinately heavy for its bulk.

“May I take some of this with me?” she asked.

“Of course,” replied the Director. “I will have a packet of it put up for you.”

“I would like to take it with me now,” said Jennie. “I have curiosity to know exactly of what it is composed. Who is the Government analyst? or have you such an official?”

“Herr Feltz, in the Graubenstrasse, is a famous analytical chemist; you cannot do better than go to him.”

“Do you think he knows anything about explosives?”

“I should suppose so, but if not, he will certainly be able to tell you who the best man is in that line.”

The Director ordered one of the soldiers who accompanied him to find a small paper bag, and fill it with some dust from the treasure chamber. When this was done, he handed the package to Jennie, who said, “I shall go at once and see Herr Feltz.”

“My carriage is at your disposal, madame.”

“Oh, no, thank you, I do not wish to trouble you further. I am very much obliged to you for devoting so much time to me already. I shall take a fiacre.”

“My carriage is at the door,” persisted the Director, “and I will instruct the driver to take you directly to the shop of Herr Feltz; then no time will be lost, and I think if I am with you, you will be more sure of attention from the chemist, who is a very busy man.”

Jennie saw the Director did not wish to let her out of his sight, and although she smiled at his suspicion, she answered politely,--

“It is very kind of you to take so much trouble and devote so much of your time to me. I shall be glad of your company if you are quite certain I am not keeping you from something more important.”

“There is nothing more important than the investigation we have on hand,” replied the Chief grimly.

CHAPTER XV. JENNIE BESTOWS INFORMATION UPON THE CHIEF OF POLICE.

A few minutes after leaving the Treasury building the carriage of the Chief stopped in front of the shop of Herr Feltz in the wide Graubenstrasse. The great chemist himself waited upon them and conducted them to an inner and private room.

“I should be obliged to you if you would tell me the component parts of the mixture in this package,” said Jennie, as she handed the filled paper bag to the chemist.

“How soon do you wish to know the result?” asked the man of chemicals.

“As soon as possible,” replied Jennie.

“Could you give me until this hour to-morrow?”

“That will do very nicely,” replied Jennie, looking up at the Director of Police, who nodded his head.

With that the two took their leave, and once more the Director of Police politely handed the girl into his carriage, and they drove to the Palace Steinheimer. Here she again thanked him cordially for his attentions during the day. The Director answered, with equal suavity, that his duty had on this occasion been a pleasure, and asked her permission to call at the same hour the next afternoon and take her to the chemist. To this Jennie assented, and cheerily bade him good-evening. The Princess was waiting for her, wild with curiosity to know what had happened.

“Oh, Jennie!” she cried, “who fired the mine, and who robbed the Government?”

Jennie laughed merrily as she replied,--

“Dear Princess, what a compliment you are paying me! Do you think that in one afternoon I am able to solve a mystery that has defied the combined talents of all the best detectives in Austria? I wish the Director of Police had such faith in me as you have.”

“And hasn’t he, Jennie?”

“Indeed he has not. He watched me every moment he was with me, as if he feared I would disappear into thin air, as the treasure had done.”

“The horrid man. I shall have my husband speak to him, and rid you of this annoyance.”

“Oh, no, Princess, you mustn’t do anything of the kind. I don’t mind it in the least; in fact, it rather amuses me. One would think he had some suspicion that I stole the money myself.”

“A single word from the Prince will stop all that, you know.”

“Yes, I know. But I really want to help the Director; he is so utterly stupid.”

“Now, Jennie, take off your hat and sit down here, and tell me every incident of the afternoon. Don’t you see I am just consumed with curiosity? I know you have discovered something. What is it?”

“I will not take off my hat, because I am going out again directly; but, if you love me, get me a cup of that delicious tea of yours.”

“I shall order it at once, but dinner will be served shortly. You are surely not going out alone to-night?”

“I really must. Do not forget that I have been used to taking care of myself in a bigger city than Vienna is, and I shall be quite safe. You will please excuse my absence from the dinner-table to-night.”

“Nonsense, Jennie! You cannot be allowed to roam round Vienna in that Bohemian way.”

“Then, Princess, I must go to an hotel, for this roaming round is strictly necessary, and I don’t want to bring the Palace Steinheimer into disrepute.”

“Jennie, I’ll tell you what we will do; we’ll both bring it into disrepute. The Prince is dining at his club to-night with some friends, so I shall order the carriage, and you and I will roam round together. You will let me come, won’t you? Where are you going?”

“I am going to the Graubenstrasse to see Herr Feltz.”

“Oh, I know Herr Feltz, and a dear old man he is; he will do anything for me. If you want a favour from Herr Feltz, you had better take me with you.”

“I shall be delighted. Ah, here comes the tea! But what is the use of ordering the carriage? we can walk there in a very few minutes.”

“I think we had better have the carriage. The Prince would be wild if he heard that we two went walking about the streets of Vienna at night. So, Jennie, we must pay some respect to conventionality, and we will take the carriage. Now, tell me where you have been, and what you have seen, and all about it.” Over their belated decoction of tea Jennie related everything that had happened.

“And what do you expect to learn from the analysis at the chemist’s, Jennie?”

“I expect to learn something that will startle the Director of Police.”

“And what is that? Jennie, don’t keep me on tenterhooks in this provoking way. How can you act so? I shall write to Lord Donal and tell him that you are here in Vienna, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, under such a terrible threat as that, I suppose I must divulge all my suspicions. But I really don’t know anything yet; I merely suspect. The weight of that dust, when I picked up a handful of it, seemed to indicate that the gold is still there in the rubbish heap.”

“You don’t mean to say so! Then there has been no robbery at all?”

“There may have been a robbery planned, but I do not think any thief got a portion of the gold. The chances are that they entirely underestimated the force of the explosive they were using, for, unless I am very much mistaken, they were dealing with something a hundred times more powerful than dynamite.”

“And will the chemical analysis show what explosive was used?”

“No; it will only show of what the _débris_ is composed. It will settle the question whether or not the gold is in that dust-heap. If it is, then I think the Government will owe me some thanks, because the Director of Police talked of carting the rubbish away and dumping it out of sight somewhere. If the Government gets back its gold, I suppose the question of who fired the mine is merely of academic interest.”

“The carriage is waiting, your Highness,” was the announcement made to the Princess, who at once jumped up, and said,--

“I’ll be ready in five minutes. I’m as anxious now as you are to hear what the chemist has to say; but I thought you told me he wouldn’t have the analysis ready until four o’clock to-morrow. What is the use of going there to-night?”.

“Because I am reasonably certain that the Director of Police will see him early to-morrow morning, and I want to get the first copy of the analysis myself.”

With that the Princess ran away and presently reappeared with her wraps on. The two drove to the shop of Herr Feltz in the Graubenstrasse, and were told that the chemist could not be seen in any circumstances. He had left orders that he was not to be disturbed.

“Disobey those orders and take in my card,” said the Princess.

A glance at the card dissolved the man’s doubts, and he departed to seek his master.

“He is working at the analysis now, I’ll warrant,” whispered the Princess to her companion. In a short time Herr Feltz himself appeared. He greeted the Princess with most deferential respect, but seemed astonished to find in her company the young woman who had called on him a few hours previously with the Director of the Police.

“I wanted to ask you,” said Jennie, “to finish your analysis somewhat earlier than four o’clock to-morrow. I suppose it can be done?”

The man of science smiled and looked at her for a moment, but did not reply. “You will oblige my friend, I hope,” said the Princess.

“I should be delighted to oblige any friend of your Highness,” answered the chemist slowly, “but, unfortunately, in this instance I have orders from an authority not to be disputed.”

“What orders?” demanded the Princess.

“I promised the analysis at four o’clock to-morrow, and at that hour it will be ready for the young lady. I am ordered not to show the analysis to anyone before that time.”

“Those orders came from the Director of Police, I suppose?” The chemist bowed low, but did not speak.

“I understand how it is, Jennie; he came here immediately after seeing you home. I suppose he visited you again within the hour after he left with this young lady--is that the case, Herr Feltz?”

“Your Highness distresses me by asking questions that I am under pledge not to answer.”

“Is the analysis completed?”

“That is another question which I sincerely hope your Highness will not press.”

“Very well, Herr Feltz, I shall ask you a question or two of which you will not be so frightened. I have told my friend here that you would do anything for me, but I see I have been mistaken.”

The chemist made a deprecatory motion of his hands, spreading them out and bowing. It was plainly apparent that his seeming discourtesy caused him deep regret. He was about to speak, but the Princess went impetuously on.

“Is the Director of Police a friend of yours, Herr Feltz? I don’t mean merely an official friend, but a personal friend?”

“I am under many obligations to him, your Highness, and besides that, like any other citizen of Vienna, I am compelled to obey him when he commands.”

“What I want to learn,” continued the Princess, her anger visibly rising at this unexpected opposition, “is whether you wish the man well or not?”

“I certainly wish him well, your Highness.”

“In that case know that if my friend leaves this shop without seeing the analysis of the material she brought to you, the Director of Police will be dismissed from his office to-morrow. If you doubt my influence with my husband to have that done, just try the experiment of sending us away unsatisfied.”

The old man bowed his white head.

“Your Highness,” he said, “I shall take the responsibility of refusing to obey the orders of the Director of Police. Excuse me for a moment.”

He retired into his den, and presently emerged with a sheet of paper in his hand.

“It must be understood,” he said, addressing Jennie, “that the analysis is but roughly made. I intended to devote the night to a more minute scrutiny.”

“All I want at the present moment,” said Jennie, “is a rough analysis.”

“There it is,” said the chemist, handing her the paper. She read,----

Calcium 29
Iron 4
Quartz ]
Feldspar ] 27
Mica ]
Gold 36-1/2
Traces of other substances 3-1/2
-------
Total 100

Jennie’s eyes sparkled as she looked at the figures before her. She handed the paper to the Princess saying,--

“You see, I was right in my surmise. More than one-third of that heap is pure gold.”

“I should explain,” said the chemist, “that I have grouped the quartz, feldspar, and mica together, without giving the respective portions of each, because it is evident that the combination represents granite.”

“I understand,” said Jennie; “the walls and the roof are of granite.”

“I would further add,” continued the chemist, “that I have never met gold so finely divided as this is.”

“Have you the gold and other ingredients separated?”

“Yes, madame.”

“I shall take them with me, if you please.”

The chemist shortly after brought her the components, in little glass vials, labelled.

“Have you any idea, Herr Feltz, what explosive would reduce gold to such fine powder as this?”

“I have only a theoretical knowledge of explosives, and I know of nothing that would produce such results as we have here. Perhaps Professor Carl Seigfried could give you some information on that point. The science of detonation has been his life study, and he stands head and shoulders above his fellows in that department.”

“Can you give me his address?”

The chemist wrote the address on a sheet of paper and handed it to the young woman.

“Do you happen to know whether Professor Seigfried or his assistants have been called in during this investigation?”

“What investigation, madame?”

“The investigation of the recent terrible explosion.”

“I have heard of no explosion,” replied the chemist, evidently bewildered.

Then Jennie remembered that, while the particulars of the disaster in the Treasury were known to the world at large outside of Austria, no knowledge of the catastrophe had got abroad in Vienna.

“The Professor,” continued the chemist, noticing Jennie’s hesitation, “is not a very practical man. He is deeply learned, and has made some great discoveries in pure science, but he has done little towards applying his knowledge to any everyday useful purpose. If you meet him, you will find him a dreamer and a theorist. But if you once succeed in interesting him in any matter, he will prosecute it to the very end, quite regardless of the time he spends or the calls of duty elsewhere.”

“Then he is just the man I wish to see,” said Jennie decisively, and with that they took leave of the chemist and once more entered the carriage.

“I want to drive to another place,” said Jennie, “before it gets too late.”

“Good gracious!” cried the Princess, “you surely do not intend to call on Professor Seigfried to-night?”

“No; but I want to drive to the office of the Director of Police.”

“Oh, that won’t take us long,” said the Princess, giving the necessary order. The coachman took them to the night entrance of the central police station by the Hohenstaufengasse, and, leaving the Princess in the carriage, Jennie went in alone to speak with the officer in charge.

“I wish to see the Director of Police,” she said.

“He will not be here until to-morrow morning. He is at home. Is it anything important?”

“Yes. Where is his residence?”

“If you will have the kindness to inform me what your business is, madame, we will have pleasure in attending to it without disturbing Herr Director.”

“I must communicate with the Director in person. The Princess von Steinheimer is in her carriage outside, and I do not wish to keep her waiting.” At mention of the Princess the officer bestirred himself and became tremendously polite.

“I shall call the Director at once, and he will be only too happy to wait upon you.”

“Oh, have you a telephone here? and can I speak with him myself without being overheard?”

“Certainly, madame. If you will step into this room with me, I will call him up and leave you to speak with him.”

This was done, and when the Chief had answered, Jennie introduced herself to him.

“I am Miss Baxter, whom you were kind enough to escort through the Treasury building this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes,” replied the Chief. “I thought we were to postpone further inquiry until to-morrow.”

“Yes, that was the arrangement; but I wanted to say that if my plans are interfered with; if I am kept under surveillance, I shall be compelled to withdraw from the search.”

A few moments elapsed before the Chief replied, and then it was with some hesitation.

“I should be distressed to have you withdraw; but, if you wish to do so, that must be a matter entirely for your own consideration. I have my own duty to perform, and I must carry it out to the best of my poor ability.”

“Quite so. I am obliged to you for speaking so plainly. I rather surmised this afternoon that you looked upon my help in the light of an interference.”

“I should not have used the word interference,” continued the Chief; “but I must confess that I never knew good results to follow amateur efforts, which could not have been obtained much more speedily and effectually by the regular force under my command.”

“Well, the regular force under your command has been at work several weeks and has apparently not accomplished very much. I have devoted part of an afternoon and evening to the matter, so before I withdraw I should like to give you some interesting information which you may impart to the Government, and I am quite willing that you should take all the credit for the discovery, as I have no wish to appear in any way as your competitor. Can you hear me distinctly?”

“Perfectly, madame,” replied the Chief.

“Then, in the first place, inform the Government that there has been no robbery.”

“No robbery? What an absurd statement, if you will excuse me speaking so abruptly! Where is the gold if there was no robbery?”

“I am coming to that. Next inform the Government that their loss will be but trifling. That heap of _débris_ which you propose to cart away contains practically the whole of the missing two hundred million florins. More than one-third of the heap is pure gold. If you want to do a favour to a good friend of yours, and at the same time confer a benefit upon the Government itself, you will advise the Government to secure the services of Herr Feltz, so that the gold may be extracted from the rubbish completely and effectually. I put in a word for Herr Feltz, because I am convinced that he is a most competent man. To-night his action saved you from dismissal to-morrow, therefore you should be grateful to him. And now I have the honour to wish you good-night.”

“Wait--wait a moment!” came in beseeching tones through the telephone. “My dear young lady, pray pardon any fault you have to find with me, and remain for a moment or two longer. Who, then, caused the explosion, and why was it accomplished?”

“That I must leave for you to find out, Herr Director. You see, I am giving you the results of merely a few hours’ inquiry, and you cannot expect me to discover everything in that time. I don’t know how the explosion was caused, neither do I know who the criminals are or were. It would probably take me all day to-morrow to find that out; but as I am leaving the discovery in such competent hands as yours, I must curb my impatience until you send me full particulars. So, once again, good-night, Herr Director.”

“No, no, don’t go yet. I shall come at once to the station, if you will be kind enough to stop there until I arrive.”

“The Princess von Steinheimer is waiting for me in her carriage outside, and I do not wish to delay her any longer.”

“Then let me implore you not to give up your researches.”

“Why? Amateur efforts are so futile, you know, when compared with the labours of the regular force.”

“Oh, my dear young lady, you must pardon an old man for what he said in a thoughtless moment. If you knew how many useless amateurs meddle in our very difficult business you would excuse me. Are you quite convinced of what you have told me, that the gold is in the rubbish heap?”

“Perfectly. I will leave for you at the office here the analysis made by Herr Feltz, and if I can assist you further, it must be on the distinct understanding that you are not to interfere again with whatever I may do. Your conduct in going to Herr Feltz to-night after you had left me, and commanding him not to give me any information, I should hesitate to characterize by its right name. When I have anything further to communicate, I will send for you.”

“Thank you; I shall hold myself always at your command.” This telephonic interview being happily concluded, Jennie hurried to the Princess, stopping on her way to give the paper containing the analysis to the official in charge, and telling him to hand it to the Director when he returned to his desk. This done, she passed out into the night, with the comfortable consciousness that the worries of a busy day had not been without their compensation.

CHAPTER XVI. JENNIE VISITS A MODERN WIZARD IN HIS MAGIC ATTIC.

When Jennie entered the carriage in which her friend was waiting, the other cried, “Well, have you seen him?” apparently meaning the Director of Police.

“No, I did not see him, but I talked with him over the telephone. I wish you could have heard our conversation; it was the funniest interview I ever took part in. Two or three times I had to shut off the instrument, fearing the Director would hear me laugh. I am afraid that before this business is ended you will be very sorry I am a guest at your house. I know I shall end by getting myself into an Austrian prison. Just think of it! Here have I been ‘holding up’ the Chief of Police in this Imperial city as if I were a wild western brigand. I have been terrorizing the man, brow-beating him, threatening him, and he the person who has the liberty of all Vienna in his hands; who can have me dragged off to a dungeon-cell any time he likes to give the order.”

“Not from the Palace Steinheimer,” said the Princess, with decision.

“Well, he might hesitate about that; yet, nevertheless, it is too funny to think that a mere newspaper woman, coming into a city which contains only one or two of her friends, should dare to talk to the Chief of Police as I have done to-night, and force him actually to beg that I shall remain in the city and continue to assist him.”

“Tell me what you said,” asked the Princess eagerly; and Jennie related all that had passed between them over the telephone.

“And do you mean to say calmly that you are going to give that man the right to use the astounding information you have acquired, and allow him to accept complacently all the _kudos_ that such a discovery entitles you to?”

“Why, certainly,” replied Jennie. “What good is the _kudos_ to me? All the credit I desire I get in the office of the _Daily Bugle_ in London.”

“But, you silly girl, holding such a secret as you held, you could have made your fortune,” insisted the practical Princess, for the principles which had been instilled into her during a youth spent in Chicago had not been entirely eradicated by residence in Vienna. “If you had gone to the Government and said, ‘How much will you give me if I restore to you the missing gold?’ just imagine what their answer would be.”

“Yes, I suppose there was money in the scheme if it had really been a secret. But you forget that to-morrow morning the Chief of Police would have known as much as he knows to-night. Of course, if I had gone alone to the Treasury vault and kept my discovery to myself, I might, perhaps, have ‘held up’ the Government of Austria-Hungary as successfully as I ‘held up’ the Chief of Police to-night. But with the Director watching everything I did, and going with me to the chemist, there was no possibility of keeping the matter a secret.”

“Well, Jennie, all I can say is that you are a very foolish girl. Here you are, working hard, as you said in one of your letters, merely to make a living, and now, with the greatest nonchalance, you allow a fortune to slip through your fingers. I am simply not going to allow this. I shall tell my husband all that has happened, and he will make the Government treat you honestly; if not generously. I assure you, Jennie, that Lord Donal--no, I won’t mention his name, since you protest so strenuously--but the future young man, whoever he is, will not think the less of you because you come to him with a handsome dowry. But here we are at home; and I won’t say another word on the subject if it annoys you.”

When Jennie reached her delightful apartments--which looked even more luxuriantly comfortable bathed in the soft radiance that now flooded them from quiet-toned shaded lamps than they did in the more garish light of day--she walked up and down her sitting-room in deep meditation. She was in a quandary--whether or not to risk sending a coded telegram to her paper was the question