on, as though the idea
were a new one. "Oh, I think I am justified in assuming it."

Carter breathed a prayer of silent thanksgiving that the Lady Trusia had
been no party to the indignity.

As though in response to the thought, the Lady Trusia herself walked
indignantly into the room. Going straight to the table she confronted
the Gray Man with flashing eyes.

"Josef," she addressed him with stamping foot, "what does this mean? Who
gave you permission to treat this gentleman so harshly? I am still
mistress here."

"They are Russian spies, Highness."

"Fiddlesticks," she replied with the feminine faith in the man who had
given her such tender care. "Anyhow," she temporized, "our Privy
Council, not you, shall be their judges." With charming hesitation, she
turned to make a suitable apology to Carter, when, as her eyes fell
before his ardent gaze, they rested upon Carrick's heirloom lying on the
table.

"Can it be?" she questioned as one in a dream. "Is it yours?" she asked
breathlessly, her whole soul in her eyes and parted lips, as she turned
to Carter.

"No, Your Grace," he answered, "it is my chauffeur's."

"Yours?" she skeptically inquired of Carrick. "Where did you get it?"

"He probably stole it. He had it hidden under his shirt," suggested
Josef.

Her fine brows drew together in annoyance as she turned to look steadily
into the crafty eyes of him she called Josef.

"You forget your place, sir. I gave you no leave to speak. Have you
forgotten that I am the Duchess of Schallberg? Be silent until you are
spoken to."

Josef shrugged his shoulders after he had bowed apologetically, for he
saw that the lady was no longer looking in his direction. Minutely,
closely, she was studying the face of the Cockney; first red, then pale,
her own countenance betrayed some inward apprehension.

"It cannot be," she said huskily as if striving to dispel some doubt
that would arise, "and yet there is no other jewel unlocated. Please
tell me how you got this," she supplicated helplessly.

"Honestly, mem," was all the satisfaction she could elicit, for Carrick
made no distinctions between her and the servant whom he thought was her
agent.

"I've no doubt of that," she answered soothingly. "Will you tell me your
name?" Her eager, expectant face held an expression of one who half
fears the reply.

"Carrick," he answered with the monotony of iteration.

"Thank you," she said in relief. "Oh," she cried as she espied t