"I could not think of troubling you, sir," he protested. "I will send one of my assistants." "I'm afraid that won't do," returned the other, with a laugh. "You see, only an officer of the Guards would be admitted to the palace at this hour, and as I feel that I ought to relieve your very natural anxiety I will go myself. By the way, on no account disturb his Excellency during my absence. It would make him very angry, and he might cancel his order." "Certainly not, sir." "Very well, then, I'll start at once. Be good enough to call a cab with a fast horse." Secretly overjoyed at having the matter thus settled, but volubly protesting his disinclination to trouble his illustrious patron, the jeweller escorted the captain to the door and saw him into a cab. Then he returned to the showroom, where a group of assistants, with smiling faces, were watching the still snoring Petroff. As the manager came up to his chair he opened his eyes sleepily. "It's all right," he murmured. Darkness began to fall. It was too late to expect any more customers. In fact, the usual closing hour had already gone by and the assistants were beginning to get restless. Mr. Gorshine went to the doorway a dozen times and peered out into the street. On each occasion, however, he returned to his desk in disappointment. There was no sign of either Major Romanoff or Captain Marckovitch. "What can have happened to his Excellency's adjutants?" he said. "They ought to have been back here long ago." The principal assistant blew his nose thoughtfully. "It's a long way after closing time, sir. I really think we ought to awaken his Excellency." Mr. Gorshine, mindful of Captain Marckovitch's injunction, would not hear of such a thing. "On no account," he exclaimed. "If we did so, his Highness would be certain to cancel the order he has given us." At the end of another half-hour, however, the jeweller decided that it would perhaps be better to take his assistant's advice after all. There was just a possibility, too, that the Prince might catch cold. Besides, he ought to be back in the palace by this time for dinner. Accordingly he went up to him deferentially and laid a respectful hand upon his epauletted shoulder. "I beg your Excellency's pardon," he said, "but your adjutants have not yet returned, and we wish to close the establishment now. If you will graciously permit me, I will see you back to the palace." "All right," muttered Petroff. "I'm a general." "Certainly, your Highness; but this is closing time." The vodka mounted to Petroff's brain, and he began to get angry. "Go to the devil!" he shouted, rising unsteadily to his feet. "I'm a general, I tell you. I want a drink. If you don't let me have one I'll put you all in prison!" "Oh, pray forgive me!" exclaimed the manager, regretting his boldness. "I did not mean to inconvenience your Excellency. I merely wished to point out that it is closing time, and that perhaps you would like to return home."