As Jessie sat there by the bedside of her new-found friend, she hardly knew what to say. It was impossible, after all that Jessie had seen and heard, to believe that the papers so boldly purloined by Vera Galloway were not of the least importance. Otherwise there would not have been all those alarms and excursions, and most assuredly Countess Saens would have made no attempt to get into the hospital. Vera had handled the missing Foreign Office documents beyond a doubt.

"Cannot you recollect anything about them?" Jessie urged.

"Absolutely nothing at all," Vera replied. "You see, I was so utterly overcome by the success of my daring exploit that I was half dazed. I had saved the situation, and I had saved Charlie Maxwell also. I suppose I must have crossed Piccadilly in a dream. Then there was a violent shock, and I came to my senses; but only for a moment, and then I was utterly unconscious till I arrived here. I had just sense enough left to remember that I was called 'Harcourt,' and there it ended."

"And yet I suppose all your underlinen is marked?" Jessie suggested.

"Only with a monogram, one of those intricate things that nobody could possibly understand. But look round, and see if you can find any trace of those papers. In a vague way I remember clutching them tightly in my hand as the cab struck me."

But there were no papers to be seen. The nurse knew nothing of them, and the hall porter was equally sure that the patient carried nothing as she entered the hospital. Doubtless they had fallen in the road and had been picked up by somebody who would not have the slightest idea of the value of their contents. It was so cruelly hard that the tears rose to Vera's eyes.

"It does seem terrible," she said, "after all the risk and all the danger. I could cry out when I think of it, I could sit up in bed and scream. And to think that those documents are perhaps lying in the gutter at this very moment! Jessie, is there nothing you can do?"

"I can have faith and courage," Jessie replied. "I will ask Dr. Varney what is best to be done. At any rate, there is one way in which we have the better of our foes. They know that the papers are stolen, but they don't know that they have been lost again. I dare say Dr. Varney will think of a plan. But I cannot believe that Mr. Maxwell was guilty. I saw him just now, as I told you, and I am quite certain that he is no traitor to his country."

"I hope not," Vera said. "It seems almost incredible. When Charlie's face rises up before me, I feel that I have been dreaming. Yet I know that he has been exceedingly friendly with the Countess Saens. There was assuredly a kind of flirtation between them. I tried to believe that I was needlessly jealous. I should have thought no more about it until I received that anonymous letter——"

"Anonymous letter!" Jessie exclaimed. "That is the first time that you have mentioned it at all to me."

"Because I forget. As a matter of fact, I had no opportunity. It was only just before I came to you in my distress and trouble. The letter was beautifully written on very good paper. I am quite sure that it emanated from a lady of education. It simply said that if I would save the man I loved from ruin, I had better contrive to find my way into the Countess Saens's bedroom to-night between the hours of nine and eleven. Also, I was to open the second drawer of the Dutch cabinet, the key of which I should find on the top of the clock. You see, I had heard my uncle mention this Asturian trouble. The queen was a friend of mine, and I divined what was going to happen. I tried to see Charlie, but I was baffled there.

"Then you came into my mind, and I determined to put a desperate resolve into execution. I knew Countess Saens's house well; she took it furnished from some friends of ours, and I had been in every room there. I knew the countess was coming to my aunt's party. And when I started out on my errand I was more or less in the dark until I heard those dreadful newsboys proclaiming the tragedy. Then one or two hints dropped by the Queen of Asturia came back to me, and I knew then the import of my mission. That mission was accomplished, as you know. How I failed at the very last moment you already know."

"But I am not going to admit that you have failed," Jessie urged. "There can be no question of the fact that you dropped those papers. It is equally certain that somebody picked them up. They would be nothing to an outsider, who would probably take them to Scotland Yard. I decline to admit that we are beaten yet."

"It is very good of you to say so," Vera said gratefully. "You will have to play my part till to-morrow, when Dr. Varney must contrive to come and see me. He will have to certify that I am quite well enough to be moved, and then I shall proceed in a cab to your lodgings, still passing as Jessie Harcourt. You will write to your sister and ask her to be prepared. Then you will come home and we will change clothes once more, so that nobody will be any the wiser. Don't worry about anything; be prepared and silent, and leave matters to my maid. And never again so long as I live shall you want a friend, Jessie. God bless you!"

Jessie rose and kissed the tearful face of the speaker. The nurse was hovering about again with a suggestion that it was high time the visitor departed. Jessie blessed the long black wrap and hood that Varney's foresight had provided her with, seeing that she would have to walk home. She would not have been afraid under ordinary circumstances, but the spectacle of a well dressed woman walking in that guise at dead of night was likely to attract attention. As a matter of fact, it did attract attention, for a man passed Jessie at the hospital door.

"Don't be alarmed," he said. "It is I—Charles Maxwell. Glad to find that a turned-up collar and hat pulled over the eyes makes so much difference. How is she Miss—Miss——"

Maxwell boggled over the name, and Jessie did not help him. Miss Galloway was going on very well indeed, but she had had her perilous errand for nothing. There was no object whatever in Mr. Maxwell committing a second attack on the house of the countess, seeing that the precious documents had already been abstracted by Vera Galloway. That Miss Galloway had lost the papers made no difference.

"That's very unfortunate," Maxwell said with a little sigh. "A brave and daring action like that should have been fully rewarded. Still, it gives us breathing time; it enables me to defy the foe. Let me walk back with you as far as the garden gate of Merehaven House. We shall pass the residence of Countess Saens on the way, and we may notice something."

Jessie had no objection to make. On the contrary, she was glad of a male companion. Usually she did not mind being out late; but then she was not dressed for society, and the shoes she wore were not satin ones with old paste buckles.

Very silently they walked along the now deserted streets. Then Maxwell paused, and indicated a house on the opposite side of the road. A brilliant light burned in the hall, and in the dining-room the electrics were fully on. The lace blinds were half down, and beyond the bank of Parma violets and maidenhair fern in the window boxes it was possible to obtain a glimpse into the room.

"The countess is at home," Maxwell whispered. "I know that for certain. I don't fancy she has gone out again, for a messenger boy was summoned to the house. Ah, there she is!"

By stooping a little it was possible to see the figure of the countess. She had discarded her jewels and her flowers; she had a tiny cigarette in her mouth. She took her place at a table and seemed to be writing something. Presently a man entered the room—a slight man, with a pale face and a mass of flame-coloured hair on his head; across his gleaming white shirt an order or two glittered.

Maxwell grasped Jessie's arm; he spoke with a fierce indrawing of his breath.

"Do you see that?" he whispered "Do you recognize anybody in that figure standing there—the man, I mean?"

"The King of Asturia," Jessie replied promptly. It was not possible to be quite certain at that distance, but the dining-room was flooded with light. Beyond doubt here was the ruler of Asturia, whom Jessie had left not so long before in a state of collapse.

"Look at him," Maxwell said in tones of the deepest contempt. "Look at the smiling scoundrel. And yet to save him and his kingdom one of the noblest women in England is risking her all. For his sake General Maxgregor does outrage to his feelings and conceals his passionate love for the queen. I would give ten years of my life to know what is going on there."

It was impossible to hear, however. It was also impossible to see anything from the near side of the road. Jessie's anger was almost as passionate as that of her companion. It seemed a lamentable thing that the King of Asturia should be so lost to all sense of his position. And he must have known that he was making himself quite at home in the house of his deadliest enemy.