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The doctor stepped forward, hand extended, smiling; surely he did not look or act like a prisoner. "Well, well," spoke he; "at last! Chick Watson and Harry Wendel! You're very welcome. Was it a long journey?" His eyes twinkled in the old way. He didn't wait for their replies. He went on: "Have we solved the Blind Spot? It seems that my pupils never desert me.
"That," I answered, "is a question for both of us. Who are you, and what do you want? Where is Watson?" Just then his eyes dropped and his glance fell and eyes widened. "My name is Jerome," he said simply. "Has something happened to Watson? Who are you?" We were standing in the library; I made an indication towards the other room. "In there," I said. "My name is Wendel."
He placed the letter, which he had dictated to Fritz Wendel, in his pocket, and drove rapidly to the queen-mother's palace. Frederick had a long and secret interview with his mother. The ladies in the next room heard the loud and angry voice of the queen, but they could not distinguish her words.
An unhappy estrangement between their parents, followed by a separation and a divorce, left them at seven and five years old half-orphaned; for they never saw their mother again. She died at St. Wendel, in Switzerland, while still young and beautiful; but doubtless weary enough of life, which had brought her such happiness, only to take it away.
For him she was Mademoiselle von Schwerin, a young lady, the goddess at whose shrine he worshipped, the fairy under whose glance his flowers bloomed, and his heart beat high. For her alone he tended the flowers and the fruits; for her alone had God created the earth; was she not its queen, and was it not natural that Fritz Wendel lay at her feet, and called her the star of his existence?
As this thought took possession of her, she gave a fearful shriek, and springing up from her seat, she seized the door, and tried to open it and jump out. The strong hand of her silent lover held her back. "We have not yet arrived, mademoiselle," whispered he. Louise felt a cold shudder pass over her. Fritz Wendel call her mademoiselle! and the voice sounded cold and strange.
How did it come into your possession? What has happened?" Her voice was querulous and suspicious. I had endeavoured to deceive her for her own sake; she had suffered enough already. I could not but wince at the pain in her eyes. She stood up. "Please, Mr. Wendel; don't be clumsy. Don't regard me as a mere baby. Tell me what has happened to Chick. Please " She stopped in a flow of emotion.
He was sitting on top of Mount Wendel, in the Rockies; he had a ravishingly pretty girl sitting on the same rock with him, and he was looking at the sunset. The plane behind him was an official Watch plane, which civilians are never supposed to catch a glimpse of. It had brought Thorn Hard and Sylva West to this spot.
He thought he heard footsteps approaching the conservatory. The door of the vestibule creaked on its hinges, and again Fritz Wendel slipped hastily into the grotto, and concealed himself behind the dense vines. On the threshold of the saloon stood a young man, who looked searchingly around.
When their eyes met, Chick caught the magnetic current of personality, the same sense of illusiveness that he and Harry Wendel had noted in the Nervina; only here it was negative, resisting instead of aiding. A number of the blue guard surrounded the throne, their faces dark, strong, and of unconquerable resolution, though slow to think. On the other throne was a girl.
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