ary and undesirable type. What might he not do, or attempt to
do? The nobleman's figure relaxed slightly, his lips twitched. Then he
sank back once more into the strong solid chair at the desk.

"Good," said Mr. Heatherbloom. A cold smile like a faint ripple on a
mountain lake swept his lips. "Now we shall get on faster."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE COUP

Mr. Heatherbloom, with fingers deft as a sailor's, secured the prince.
The single silken band did not suffice; other cords, diverted from the
ornamental to a like practical purpose, were wound around and around his
excellency's legs and arms, holding him so tightly to the chair he could
scarcely move. Having completed this task, Mr. Heatherbloom next, with
vandal hands, whipped from the wall a bit of priceless embroidery, threw
it over the nobleman's head and, in spite of sundry frenzied objections,
effectually gagged him. Then drawing the heavy curtains so that they
almost concealed the bound figure in the dim recess, the young man
stepped once more out into the salon.

How still it suddenly seemed! His glance swept toward the door through
which the young girl had vanished. Why had he heard no sound from her?
Why did she not appear now? She must have caught something of what had
been going on. He went swiftly to the door.

"Miss Dalrymple!"

No answer. He rapped again--louder--then tried the door. It resisted; he
shook it.

"Betty!" Yes; he called her that in the alarm and excitement of the
moment. "It's--it's all right. Open the door."

Again that hush--nothing more. Mr. Heatherbloom pulled rather wildly at
the lock of hair over his brow; then a sudden frenzy seemed to seize
him. He launched himself forward and struck fairly with his
shoulder--once--twice. The door, at length, yielded with a crash. He
rushed in--fell to his knees.

"Betty! Oh, Betty!" For the moment he stared helplessly at the
motionless form on the floor, then, lifting the girl in his arms, he
laid her on a couch. One little white hand swung limp; he seized it with
grimy fingers. It was oddly cold, and a shiver went over him. He felt
for her pulse--her heart--at first caught no answering throb, for his
own heart was beating so wildly. The world seemed to swim--then he
straightened. The filmy dress, not so white now in spots, had fluttered
beneath her throat. He gazed rapturously.

"It'll be all right," he said again. "Darling!"

He could say it now, when she couldn't hear. "Darling! D