She swept out of the room in a whirlwind of righteous indignation. As for Mansfield, he took a sorrowful leave of Sister Chriemhild, walked down regretfully to the spot at which he had told Uncle Sam to meet him with the horses, and rode back to Damascus with a gloomy countenance. He had felt so sure of success, so confident of bringing back with him some message, though perhaps only a word or two, from the Queen to Cyril, and he had accomplished nothing. It was possible, even, that he had done harm, and he began to wonder what Cyril would think of the way in which Mr Hicks and he had meddled in his affairs. CHAPTER XV. A FOOL’S ERRAND. “Really,” said Cyril, “words fail me to express my gratitude. The conspicuous success which has crowned your kind efforts would alone be sufficient----” “Say, Count,” broke in Mr Hicks, “don’t make us squirm ourselves right away through the floor. Mr Mansfield is not to blame, any way, for I despatched him and told him to go ahead, and I acted as I thought best for you in my professional capacity, sir.” “Professional capacity be hanged!” said Cyril, sharply. “What does your professional capacity make of the result of this precious expedition? Nice little encouragement for the patient, eh? Hearten him up a bit, I suppose? You and Mansfield are both too clever for me, Hicks. To the ordinary mind it would have occurred that in the peculiar circumstances of the case my only hope was to go there myself and take the Queen by surprise, but you have knocked all chance of that on the head.” “But, Count,” ventured Mansfield, “the lady said it would be quite useless for you to go, because you would not be admitted.” “Did you ever know me baffled yet in a thing I meant to do, Mansfield? Fräulein von Staubach and I are old friends.” “Well, Count, she has promised to mention your name to the Queen at the earliest opportunity. I will ride up to Brutli again to-morrow, and try and arrange with her to let you know the moment she has done it. But she said it would certainly not be for a fortnight.” “A fortnight?” Cyril’s irritation subsided suddenly, as a new idea appeared to strike him. “Mansfield, I want to know exactly what she told you.” Mansfield cudgelled his brains, and, aided by a stringent cross-examination, succeeded in recalling very faithfully the conversation which had taken place between Fräulein von Staubach and himself. When he had come to the end, Cyril smiled gently. “Since you two have gone to work so ingeniously to spoil my plans with regard to the Queen,” he said, “I shall put business before pleasure once more, and devote this fortnight to looking up the Great Princess of the Beni Ismail.”