Take your life in your hands
and go your own way, or trust in us who are doing our best to save
you."
"And what of Reginald Brott?" she asked.
"Brott?" the Prince repeated impatiently. "Who cares what becomes
of him? You have made him seem a fool, but, Lucille, to tell you
the truth, I am sorry that we did not leave this country altogether
alone. There is not the soil for intrigue here, or the possibility.
Then, too, the police service is too stolid, too inaccessible. And
even our friends, for whose aid we are here--well, you heard the
Duke. The cast-iron Saxon idiocy of the man. The aristocracy here
are what they call bucolic. It is their own fault. They have
intermarried with parvenus and Americans for generations. They are
a race by themselves. We others may shake ourselves free from them.
I would work in any country of the globe for the good of our cause,
but never again in England."
Lucille shivered a little.
"I am not in the humour for argument," she declared. "If you would
earn my gratitude take that note to my husband. He is the only man
I feel sure of--whom I know can protect me."
The Prince bowed low.
"It is our farewell, Countess," he said.
"I cannot pretend," she answered, "to regret it."
Saxe Leinitzer left the room. There was a peculiar smile upon his
lips as he crossed the hall.
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