r could
understand anything about politics.

Prince Charles looked puzzled, but requested Dick to explain his great
plan.

They sat down on the grass, and Ricardo showed them how he meant to
manage it, just as he had told Jaqueline. As he said, nothing could be
simpler.

"Let's start at once," he said, and, inducing Prince Charles to sit down
on the magic carpet, he cried:

"England! St. James's Palace!"

But nothing happened!

The carpet was not the right magic carpet, but the one which King Prigio
had put in its place.

"Get on! England, I said!" cried Dick.

But there they remained, under the chestnut tree, sitting on the carpet
above the flowery grass.

{But there they remained: p99.jpg}

Prince Charles leaped to his feet; his face like fire, his eyes glowing.

"Enough of this fooling, sir!" he said. "It is easy, but cowardly, to
mock at an unfortunate prince. Take your carpet and be off with you, out
of the gardens, or your shoulders shall taste my club."

"There has been some mistake," Ricardo said; "the wrong carpet has been
brought by accident, or the carpet has lost its power."

"In this sacred city, blessed by the presence of his Holiness the Pope,
and the relics of so many martyrs and saints, magic may well cease to be
potent," said the Duke of York.

"Nonsense! You are an impostor, sir! Leave my presence!" cried Prince
Charles, lifting his golf-club.

Dick caught it out of his hand, and broke across his knee as fine a
driver as ever came from Robertson's shop at St. Andrew's.

"The quarrels of princes are not settled with clubs, sir! Draw and
defend yourself!" he said, kicking off his boots and standing in his
socks on the grass.

Think of the horror of poor Jaqueline, who witnessed this terrible scene
of passion from a fold in Prince Ricardo's dress! What could the girl do
to save the life of two princes, the hopes of one nation, and of a
respectable minority in another?

In a moment Prince Charles's rapier was shining in the sunlight, and he
fell on guard in the most elegant attitude, his left hand gracefully
raised and curved.

Dick drew his sword, but, as suddenly, threw it down again.

"Hang it!" he exclaimed, "I can't hit you with _this_! This is the Sword
of Sharpness; it would cut through your steel and your neck at a touch."

He paused, and thought.

"Let me beseech your Royal Highness," he said to the Duke of York, who
was in a terrible taking, "to lend your