Those who were officers of The Guard were hastening from the palace to join their men. All was bustle and excitement. The courtly form and ceremony of a royal function were forgotten or ignored. In the mind of each Margothian there but a single thought loomed, large and ominous-their beloved princess was in the hands of that notorious cutthroat and scoundrel, The Rider. In fifteen minutes from the time that Captain Polnik left the banquet hall twenty automobiles carrying a hundred and fifty officers and soldiers of The Guard were racing toward the Roman road on their way to the western frontier.

Chapter TEN

SEVERAL miles ahead of them two other automobiles sped westward. In the foremost car rode Mrs. Abner J. Bass and her daughter, Gwendolyn-in the second the false Prince Boris with Alexander Palensk and Nicholas Gregovitch rode in moody silence, bound for the hunting lodge of the crown prince of Karlova, where The Rider and the prince were again to exchange identities and take up once more the particular roles for which each was best suited.

"I hope Boris will be there," said Alexander.

"Peter can get word to him quickly enough if he is not," replied the bandit. "If he is not there he will be in my camp-if the gendarmes haven't got him."

Nicholas laughed. "Gad!" he exclaimed, "what a joke on Boris, if they should."

"And on us, too," growled Alexander. "It would cost us our commissions should His Majesty ever learn our part in this affair. Say! what have we here?" as the car turned to one side and came to a stop beside another machine which blocked the road at a bad turn.

The royal chauffeur was excitedly berating the driver of the other car for stopping in such a place.

"Get out of there!" he cried. "Make way for His Royal Highness, Prince Boris of Karlova."

"Gwan, you Dago," growled the man addressed. "Talk American. Wotinel do you tink I AM?"

If her chauffeur had failed to understand the speech of the Karlovian, Mrs. Abner J. Bass had not. `His Royal Highness, Prince Boris of Karlova!' Mrs. Bass was out in the dust of the Roman road in a second.

"McDougall" she cried sharply. "Have a care! Prince Boris of Karlova is in that car."

"I don't givadam whose in dat car," grumbled the exasperated American who had been tinkering with a refractory magneto. "If he tinks I can pack a tourin' car off on me back he's got annuder tink comin'."

The three men had now descended from the royal limousine, the two officers having seen that a woman was in distress, and the bandit following their example from force of habit.

"I am so sorry, your highness," apologized Mrs. Bass, looking questioningly from one of the men- to another; but none of them seemed desirous of acknowledging himself crown prince of Karlova. It was at this moment that Gwendolyn stepped from the car to her mother's side.

At sight of her face The Rider raised his military cap and bowed low.

"Permit me," he said, "to offer my services. I am Prince Boris of Karlova."

Mrs. Bass and her daughter curtsied. Alexander and Nicholas raised their helmets, bowing low from the hips.

"I am Mrs. Abner J. Bass of America," said the wife of the multi-millionaire, "and this is my daughter."

The Rider licked his lips. He had heard of the millions of the famous Abner J. Bass.