"There she is, now.

"Who?" asked the stranger.

"The convent," explained Main.

"Good! You are something of a detective, after all."

The car drew up before the hotel and stopped. Two maids alighted, followed by a young girl and a white haired woman.

"I am interested, my friend," said the stranger. "Tell me something of your romance-it is possible that I may be of assistance to you."

Main looked the other squarely in the eyes. He had been attracted to the man from the first by that indefinable something which inspires confidence and belief even in total strangers.

"My dear Kargovitch," he said, "I do not know you from the side of a barn; but I like you. You are what my friend Garrigan of the late Chicago Press Club would call `a regular fellow.' I think I'll tell you my troubles; but I'll promise not to weep on your shoulder-the bronx is far too mild for that."

M. Kargovitch leaned across the table and laid a hand on the American's shoulder.

"I am glad that you like me, my friend," he said; "and I can assure you that I return the compliment. Tell me no more than you care to; and if I can help you, I will.

Hemmington Main let his eyes return from the walk below, from which the little party had disappeared from the automobile into the interior of the hotel.

"It is this way," he said. "The young lady whom you just saw leaving the machine is Miss Gwendolyn Bass, daughter of Abner J. Bass the multi-millionaire American. I-er-ah-we, well, you understand; she is perfectly willing to become Mrs. Hemmington Main; and her father is with us, strong; but Mamma Bass has aspirations. She wants a title in the family. Money, of course, is no object to them. The fact that I am poor means nothing to Mrs. Bass one way or another; but, you see, being a plain American, I am absolutely titleless and, therefore, impossible. Gwendolyn would marry me in a minute if we could get her away from her mother long enough to have the ceremony performed; but mamma has Argus backed through the ropes in the first round when it comes to watchfulness. If I could only find some way to separate Gwen from mamma for about an hour it would all be over but the shouting."

M. Kargovitch smiled pleasantly at his American friend.

"Let's have another of those delicious 'bronx' inspirations," he suggested; "it may inspire a solution of your problem."

When the waiter had brought the two drinks and set them upon the table, M. Kargovitch raised his glass to the American.

"My regards, my friend," he said. "I have been thinking, and I believe that I have found a way-listen;" and leaning across the table he bent close to Hemmington Main's ear, into which he whispered a heaven born plan.

When he had done Hemmington Main leaned back in his chair and laughed.

"I would never take you for that sort," he said; "and I don't give two whoops in hades if you are. You're right, Kargovitch-you're a right one; I'd trust you with my life, and my pocket book too; but I can promise you, on the credit and the word of Abner J. Bass that you'll be well paid if you cam pull this thing off as you have outlined it. You won't have to depend on what we've got in our pockets-just name your price and it'll be paid."

"I promise you," said M. Kargovitch, "that my charge shall not be exorbitant. I have taken a fancy to you and your bronxes, and it may be that I shall not ask a kopek of reward. Promise me that you will let me name my own price when the thing is done, and accept the word of a gentleman that no advantage will be taken of you or your friends."

"Done!" cried Hemmington Main; and he extended his hand across the little round table to the tall young man who faced him.

"Now go," said Kargovitch, "and learn if you can when Argus and lo leave Demia, and the road that they will take."

Chapter SIX

WHEN Prince Boris of Karlova stepped from his limousine before the palace of Alexis III of Margoth, Ivan Kantchi was close at his elbow.

"Turn your helmet around," he whispered into the royal ear, "and keep it on. In the name of Heaven, don't take it off and wave it again. When you're saluted, return the salute."

"Shut up," growled the crown prince, "and don't forget that I'm a highness. You ought to have your head chopped off. When we get back to Karlova I'll see to it; but, Kantchi, my friend, if ever I do get back you'll never make a prince of me again-I'd rather hang to the nearest gibbet."

"Which would suit your highness's peculiar style of beauty far, better than the purple," replied Ivan.

"Purple?" asked the crown prince.