There was a note for him in their box the clerk believed, and presently produced it--a brief, regretful word from Olivia telling him that the prince had found that they must leave fully an hour earlier than he had planned.
Sick with apprehension, cursing himself for the ease and dexterity with which he had permitted himself to be outwitted by Tabnit, St.
George turned blindly from the office with some vague idea of chartering all the tugs in the harbour.

It came to him that he had bungled the matter from first to last, and that Bud or Bennietod would have used greater shrewdness.

And while he was in the midst of anathematizing his characteristic confidence he stepped in the outer hallway and saw that which caused that confidence to balloon smilingly back to support him.
In the vestibule of the Boris, deaf to the hovering attention of a door-boy more curious than dutiful, stood two men of the stature and complexion of Prince Tabnit of Yaque.

They were dressed like the youth who had answered the door of the prince's apartment, and they were speaking softly with many gestures and evidently in some perplexity.

The drooping spirits of St.George soared to Heaven as he hastened to them.
"You are asking for Miss Holland, the daughter of King Otho of Yaque," he said, with no time to smile at the pranks of the democracy with hereditary titles.
The men stared and spoke almost together.
"We are," they said promptly.
"She is not here," explained St.George, "but I have attended to some affairs for her.