Caruth put his hand painfully to his head. “I guess I’d have thought of that myself if my head had been clear,” he evaded. “A crack like that isn’t conducive to lucidity.” “Humph! I suppose you have no reason to suppose that this brawny man was really a woman?” Caruth’s heart contracted painfully. “A woman!” he exclaimed. “Heavens, no! No woman could strike a blow like that!” “No? You are sure, then, that it could not have been struck by one Marie Fitzhugh, so called, who made the voyage from America to Russia on your yacht?” Caruth struggled to his feet with what assumption of dignity he could command. “You are pleased to jest, Monsieur,” he remarked stiffly. “Miss Fitzhugh is a valued friend. To think of her in such a connection as this is little short of an insult. I will bid you good day, Monsieur.” “Not so fast. When do you leave Russia, Mr. Caruth?” The young man looked the elder in the eye. “To-night, I hope,” he answered shortly. “So? That is good. I was about to advise an early departure. Russia does not seem to agree with you, Mr. Caruth. You are too unfortunate. I fear--I very much fear--that a third misfortune more serious than the others will overtake you if you stay much longer. But if you are leaving soon----” “I hope to.” “Very well. I trust nothing will prevent. _Bon voyage_, Mr. Caruth.” Heavy heartedly the young American drove to a hotel and sent for a physician, who dressed his head, prescribed a sedative, and ordered him to bed. Caruth bowed him out, poured the sedative into the slop basin, and set off for the American Embassy. He did not feel at all certain of his reception. The ambassador was absent on leave and the _Chargé d’Affaires_, who acted in his place, had long before been rendered nearly frantic by the complications of the _Sea Spume’s_ case. What he would say when this fresh development was forced upon him, Caruth found it difficult to guess. If Marie had arrived there in disguise, as he hoped she had, he could imagine that the poor _Chargé_ was having a bad quarter of an hour. His anticipations proved true. As he entered the office the _Chargé_ sprang up. “Well, Mr. Caruth,” he cried, “this is the limit! Not content with engaging in filibustering, you seem to have gone in for direct nihilism. Heavens, man, haven’t you any consideration for the position you put me in?” Caruth did not answer. His eyes had lighted on a well-remembered form, and he turned to greet Marie Fitzhugh. Swiftly she came toward him still dressed in her men’s clothes, and laid her white hand in his. “Thank God you are safe!” she said with a catch in her voice. “It was the bravest thing I ever knew.” Caruth smiled at her. “Nonsense!” he answered. “I’ve taken many a harder crack in football. It was all right again in ten minutes. And the police couldn’t do a thing to me, though I guess they knew pretty well what had happened. But you? Did you get through all right?”