Maxwell's coolness had come back to him again. His face was alert and vigorous; his anger had gone.

"I am afraid that I shall have to ask you to go on alone," he said. "In the face of this discovery I do not see my way to lose this opportunity. The king cannot stay here long; you will see that it is impossible for Countess Saens to run any further risks. I am going to wait."

Jessie felt that she would like to wait also, but duty was urging her elsewhere. She stood irresolute just a moment as a figure came down the street, and pausing before the house opposite, whistled a bar from some comic opera. Maxwell touched Jessie's arm.

"Just a minute," he said. "Cling to me as if we were saying good-night. Unless I am greatly mistaken, the whistle was no more than a signal. Ah, that is what I thought! Evidently all the servants have gone to bed, for here is the countess herself."

The countess opened the door and stood on the step with the light behind her. The man stopped whistling and walked up the steps. He saluted the countess properly.

"So you are here at last!" she said. The night was so close and still that her voice was easily carried across the road. "I thought that you were never coming. Take this note and see that Prince Mazaroff has it without delay. You will be able to give him the signal. See it goes into his own hand. Oh, yes, Merehaven House. The best way will be by the garden door. You know where that is."

The man nodded, and said something in Russian that the listeners could not follow. Then he lounged off up the road and the countess vanished. Maxwell was all energy.

"Come along," he said. "I have changed my mind. What the king does for the next few hours must be on his own head and on his own account. It is far greater importance for me to know what message it is that the countess has sent to Prince Mazaroff. We will walk quickly and get ahead of that fellow, so that I can hide myself in the garden before he comes. We shall probably find that the signal is a bar or two of the same opera that our man was whistling just now. Unless fortune plays me a very sorry trick, I shall see the inside of that letter within half an hour."

The slouching figure of the unconscious Russian was passed in a perfectly natural way. Maxwell glanced at him sideways, and saw that he had slipped the letter into his breast pocket. The garden gate leading into the grounds of Merehaven House was safely reached, and Jessie drew a sigh of relief as she threw off her wrap and cast it on a seat. If anybody saw her now it would be assumed that she had come out for a breath of fresh air.

She saw the lights streaming from the library window, she saw the little group there, and she drew nearer. She heard enough to tell her that she was in deadly peril of being discovered. If Mazaroff was not stopped, if he persisted in his determination, the fraud must be exposed.

What was to be done? Something would have to be done, and speedily. Varney could be trusted to stave off the evil moment as long as possible. If she could come and spoil Mazaroff's game? The idea came to Jessie like a flash—she tingled with it.

The queen! Who else but the Queen of Asturia? Jessie raced round and reached the house. She hoped that she would not be too late; she prayed that the queen had not gone. There she was, on the couch of the salon, quiet and dignified as usual, but her dark eyes were alert. She looked about her from time to time as if seeking something. Greatly daring, Jessie made a sign. With her forefinger she actually beckoned to the queen! But there was no sign of offended displeasure in the face of royalty. On the contrary, the queen rose, and making some excuse walked to the door. Once outside her manner changed entirely. Her face grew haggard, her eyes had a hunted expression.

"What is it?" she asked. "Something very wrong, or you would never.... But never mind that. Speak plainly, and I will do anything I can to assist. Ay, menial work, if necessary."

"There is no necessity, madame," Jessie said breathlessly. "Nor have I time to explain. That will come later. Prince Mazaroff has made what he deems to be a most important discovery. It is nothing like so important as he thinks, but its disclosure at the present moment would ruin all our plans. He is telling Lord Merehaven all about it now in the library. Lord Merehaven is an English gentleman first and a diplomatist afterwards, and he would insist upon having the whole thing cleared up. Could you not make a diversion? Could you not interrupt, get Mazaroff out of the way if only for half an hour? Time is precious."

"It is very vague," said the queen quietly. "At the same time, I can see that you are in deadly earnest. I will go to the library myself at once."

The queen moved along the corridor swiftly, as she used to do in her mountain home long before she felt the weight of the crown on her brows. She forced a smile to her face as she entered. Lord Merehaven was listening gravely and with a puzzled frown to Mazaroff. Varney stood by laughing with the air of a man who is vastly amused.

"I don't think Lord Merehaven understands," he said. "Champagne, my dear prince, champagne in moderation is an excellent thing. But when indulged in three times a day——"

"I shall be glad if Miss Galloway will be pleased to grace us with her presence," Mazaroff said.

"Would I not do instead?" the queen said as she looked in. She was smiling gaily as she entered. She seemed to have utterly abandoned herself to the gaiety of the moment. "Miss Galloway is doing something for me, and I could not spare her for the next half hour. After that we are both at your disposal. Positively, I cannot permit three of the cleverest and most brilliant men in the house to be seeking each other's society in that selfish manner. You have quite forgotten those stamps, my lord!"

"Bless my soul, so I have!" Merehaven exclaimed. "I beg your majesty's pardon. Mazaroff was saying——"

"What Mazaroff was saying will keep," that individual muttered significantly. "There is no hurry; and the mere idea of keeping her majesty waiting——"

He bowed and smiled. It was quite clear to Jessie, who was once more outside the window, that the Russian had no idea that anything but accident had postponed his accusation. He was talking to Varney now in the most natural manner. With her hand under his arm the queen had led Merehaven away. Presently Mazaroff made an excuse and followed. Jessie stepped into the room.

"That was a very near thing, my dear," Varney said coolly. "If the queen had not come in——"

"I fetched her," Jessie said. "By great good luck I was by the window at the time. Keep Mazaroff's mouth sealed to-night, and by this time to-morrow, when he is confronted with Vera Galloway, he will see the real Vera and nobody else."

"Then you have been quite successful in your mission?" Varney asked eagerly.

Jessie proceeded to explain, and as she did so Varney's face grew grave. But after all, he reflected, things are not quite so bad as they might be. The enemy was utterly at a loss, and could not possibly know that those papers had vanished.

"You have done wonderfully well between you," Varney said at length. "What was that? I fancied that I saw the shadow of a man lurking in the garden. Just by those mimosa tubs."

Surely enough a shadow flitted along, and somebody began softly whistling a few bars of an opera. Hardly was the first bar on the man's lips before another man dashed forward and struck the whistler to the ground. There was a struggle, the sound of a blow or two, a suggestion of punishment for loafers hanging about there with a felonious intention, and the figure of the first man rose and ran headlong down the garden. In the distance the clang of the wooden door could be heard.

"We had better see into this," Varney cried. "If this is some cunning game of some gang of thieves——?"

"It is nothing of the kind," Jessie said tranquilly. "That is Mr. Charles Maxwell. We had better go and see if he has succeeded. I will tell you presently what it all means. If he has only obtained possession of that letter without the thief knowing that the robbery was intentional!... Come along!"

Varney followed, greatly excited. In the shadow of an alcove seat Maxwell stood with a small black envelope in his hand. He advanced coolly to Varney.

"This was intended for Mazaroff," he explained. "It was sent to him by Countess Saens. I fancy that I have managed this without yonder tool suspecting anything. This young lady will tell you all about it presently. Let us open the letter."

The letter contained nothing worse than a visiting card, with only a few words written on it. As Maxwell held it up to the light the others could see perfectly:—

"I am sending this by a sure hand. The key of the situation lies with General Maxgregor. Follow him up without delay, for time is all against us."