The clearness of the Count's conscience may be gauged when it is narrated that no sooner had he dismissed the stump of his cigar toward the grate than he dropped into a peaceful doze and remained placidly unconscious of his perils for the space of an hour or more.

He was then awakened by the sound of a key being gently turned, and his opening eyes rested upon a charming vision of Julia Wallingford framed in the outline of the door.
"Hush!" she whispered; "I--I have brought a note for you!" Smoothing his hair as he met her, the Count thanked her with an air of considerable feeling, and took from her hand a twisted slip of paper.
"It was brought by a messenger--a man in a kilt, who came in a motor car.

I didn't know whether father would let you have it, so I brought it up myself." "Is the messenger waiting ?" "No; he went straight off again." Unrolling the scrap he read this brief message scrawled in pencil and evidently in dire haste-- "All is lost! I am prisoner! Go straightway to London for help from my Embassy.
"R.

VON B." "Good heavens!" he exclaimed aloud.
"Is it bad news ?" asked Julia, with a solicitude that instantly suggested possibilities to his fertile brain.
"Horribly!" he said.

"It tells of a calamity that has befallen a very dear friend of mine! Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph! And I a helpless prisoner!" As he anticipated, this outburst of emotion was not without its effect.
"I am so sorry!" she said.