“Well, if I understand the situation correctly, Miss Garrison is the judge, Ravorelli the accused, and you are one of the witnesses. Now, really, dear, how far do you imagine your hearsay evidence--which is no evidence at all--goes with the fair magistrate? What would be your verdict if some one were to come to you and say, 'Saxondale is a blackguard, a rascal, a cutthroat?'” “I confess I'd say it was not true,” she said, turning quite red. “The chances are you wouldn't even ask for proof. So, you see, Miss Garrison behaved very generously when she condescended to hear your assertions instead of instructing the servant to direct you to the door.” “She was above reproach, Bob. I never saw anyone so calm, so composed and so frigidly agreeable. If she had shown the faintest sign of anger, displeasure or even disgust, I could forgive her, but she acted just as if she were tolerating me rather than to lower herself to the point of seriously considering a word I uttered. I know the prince is a villian. I believe every word Phil says about him.” She took Lord Bob's hands in hers, and her deep, earnest eyes burnt conviction into his brain. “And so do I Frances I am as sure that Ugo is a scoundrel as if I had personal knowledge of his transactions. In fact, I have never believed in him. You and I will stand together, dear, in this fight for poor old Phil, and, by the Lord Harry, they'll find us worth backing to the finish. If there's anything to be done that can be done, we'll do it, my girl.” And he was amply repaid for his loyal declaration by the love that shone refulgent from her eyes. Quentin naturally chafed under the restraint. There was nothing he could do, nothing his friends could do, to avert the disaster that was daily drawing nearer. Lord Bob infused a momentary spark of hope into the dying fire of his courage, but even the resourceful Briton admitted that the prospect was too gloomy to warrant the slightest encouragement. They could gain absolutely no headway against the prince, for there was no actual proof to be had. To find the strange woman who gave the first warning to Quentin was out of the question. Turk had watched every movement of the prince and his aides in the hope of in some way securing a clue to her identity or whereabouts. There was but one proposition left; the purchase of Courant. This plan seemed feasible until Turk reported, after diligent search, that the French detective could not be found. Dickey was for buying the two Italian noblemen, but that seemed out of the question, and it was unreasonable to suspect that the other hirelings recognized the prince as their real employer. The slightest move to approach the two noblemen might prove disastrous, and wisdom cut off Dickey's glorious scheme to give each of them “a hundred dollars to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”