"Perhaps he suspects already," he said. "I've been told he's a clever fellow--in fact, he's proved it once or twice." "Suppose he does suspect--what shall we do?" "Convince him to the contrary. Where's Scaddam?" "In his room, I suppose." "Better send for him." "May I come out?" inquired a voice from the inner room. "Yes, come ahead," called Collins, and Vernon reappeared. "Now, my friend," he continued rapidly, "you'd better go in and put on your war-togs." Vernon groaned. "Put 'em on thick. I believe Markeld suspects the trick we're playing, and we've got to fool him--we've got to show him what a sick man you are." "How _could_ he suspect?" demanded Vernon, incredulously. "Even if he saw me, he couldn't recognise me--he doesn't know me." "Perhaps those girls have already given you away." "Nonsense! You fellows are afraid of your own shadows. He can't suspect!" "Just the same, we've got to be prepared for emergencies. Have you got plenty of pepper?" Vernon groaned again. "Plenty! I tell you fellows I'll ruin my health if I keep this up much longer. I might easily burst a blood-vessel. People often do when they sneeze." "Well, we'll have to take the risk," said Blake, with grim complacency. "Much risk you take! In fact, I saw you sprinkling pepper on my handkerchief this morning, when there wasn't the slightest need of it." "Now, see here," protested Collins, sharply, "what's the use of all this argument? We've got to see this thing through, whether we like it or not. I've sent for Scaddam, so he'll be on the scene in case of emergencies--" "You mean, if I break a blood-vessel?" inquired Vernon, politely. "Oh, break your grandmother! I tell you--" There was a second tap on the door and Vernon again made a dive for the inner room. This time, a note was handed in. Collins closed the door, tore open the envelope nervously, and ran his eyes quickly over the contents. "Come out here, you beggar," he called, and Vernon reappeared on the threshold. "Take a look at this," he added, and held out the note. "Maybe you won't be so cocksure hereafter that diplomats are always making mountains out of mole-hills." Vernon took the paper and read it slowly, his face growing blanker and more blank as he proceeded. Then he went back to the beginning and read it aloud: "The Prince of Markeld admired greatly Lord Vernon's recent prompt and chivalrous action, which he had the privilege of witnessing. He is sure, however, that His Lordship's illness cannot be so serious as represented, and hopes that His Lordship will not persist in refusing him an audience. Such a course would be neither ingenuous nor fair." For a moment, no one spoke, then Blake gave vent to a low whistle. "Well," he said, dazedly; "so the cat's out of the bag! What's to be done?"