“It looks hopeless!” said Usk despondently to Helene, as they walked up the quay at Trieste. “One almost wonders---- Now then, where are you going to?” The words were addressed to a loutish youth, apparently a dockyard loafer of the usual type, who had lurched up against him; but as the man withdrew with a surly apology, Usk found a piece of paper in his hand. Guessing that it contained some secret information, he unfolded one of the newspapers he had bought, as if to look at the page again, and laid the paper against it. “Look here, Helene!” he said. Helene glanced quickly at the scrap of writing. “When you leave Trieste this afternoon, watch out for me. I shall be fooling around at the depot with a camera, and I don’t want to have you seem to know me. Get into talk with me the way you would with a stranger, for I must speak to you.--Hicks.” “This gentleman is some English peer of your acquaintance?” said Helene, looking respectfully at the signature. Usk smothered a laugh. “Not exactly,” he said. “He’s the American newspaper man you’ve heard so much about, and a real good fellow. If you’ll excuse me, Nell, I’ll light a cigar.” “A long way round!” said Helene, as he twisted the paper into a roll, and striking a match, set light to it, instead of lighting the cigar with the match. “If you mean a roundabout way, my child, why not say so? Don’t you see that Hicks evidently expects us to be watched? I daren’t leave that paper lying about, or even tear it up. Now will you keep your eyes open this afternoon, and express innocent wonder if you see a long scraggy fellow, with a thin grey beard, taking snap-shots? That’ll give us an opportunity to get into conversation.” Helene promised to be on the watch, and very soon after they reached the station she pulled Usk’s sleeve. “Do look at that gentleman taking photographs,” she said, with admirable innocence. “It must be so interesting to be able to do it! All these quaint costumes----” “They’re nothing to what you’ll see in the Balkans,” said Usk. “What a pity we didn’t think of bringing a kodak. But we might send for one, of course. Would you mind allowing my wife to see how your camera works?” he asked of the photographer, who had been listening with a twinkle in his eye while pretending to focus an Albanian group on the opposite platform. “Why, certainly,” was the hearty response. “You hold it this way, and you put your eye here---- But if we move away a step or so, we won’t be so crowded. I have a whole-souled admiration for your manner of meeting me, sir,” added Mr Hicks, in a lower tone, as he exhibited the camera and appeared to be describing its mechanism. “And this is the little Princess?” “No,” said Helene. “It is Lady Usk.” “Is that so?” asked Mr Hicks slowly, manipulating a screw. “Well, I incline to think Lord Usk has struck ile.” “I don’t know English quite well yet,” said Helene apologetically. “I guess your husband has found the pay-streak, then.”