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As she finished the transition from white linen to street attire, she pondered and marvelled, and by the time her veil was adjusted she had decided upon her course. This was a case for some one more learned in Russian ways than Mr. Eissler, and after consulting the nearest directory she set out for the Russian Consulate. There her demand for speech with the Consul General was met by the Vice-Consul’s bland regrets that his principal was invisible. “Closeted,” he reported, dropping his voice and nodding toward the closed door behind him, “with His Excellency, Prince Epifanoff.”

“Then,” said Miss Bailey, “perhaps you can tell me something of your Russian charities. I want you to direct me to an institution where a sick little boy can find attention and understanding. He has sadly lacked both these many weeks, I fear.”

The Vice-Consul, a man of heart, listened with kindly but restrained attention until Miss Bailey produced the locket on its severed chain. Then even that practised diplomat allowed amazement to overspread him.

“May I ask you to wait here for a moment?” said he, and it took him little more than the moment he appointed to disappear through the door of the inner room, and to reappear.

“And may I ask you now,” said he, “to tell these very interesting facts to Prince Epifanoff and the Consul?”

Constance Bailey was slightly disconcerted by this sudden plunge into diplomatic waters, and by the extremely thorough, though always courteous, cross-examination to which she was promptly subjected.

“May I ask,” she demanded on her own part when she was growing weary of always answering, “whether you have identified the miniature?”

“We have indeed,” answered the Ambassador, a large but otherwise unalarming personage, with stiff hair arranged a la door-mat. “And not only so: we have been searching for the miniature for almost a year. Almost a year ago a boy was stolen from a castle in the northern part of Russia. He was five years old, and the owner–since the assassination of his father–of what would make a whole state in this country of yours. The Nihilists were suspected, this time with some reason, as it transpired that one of their important members–a woman–had obtained employment in the castle. She and the child vanished together. There was little hope that the young Prince would escape his father’s fate, but in the absence of any proof of his death the whole Russian secret service and the Consular Service were notified. It was just possible, you see, that his captors would try to use him as a hostage or as the price of some concession. The woman was stopped at the frontier. Unfortunately she was–accidentally, you understand–killed before she had accounted for the boy, who was not then with her. As I have said, all this occurred a year ago, and nothing has been heard of the child. You can imagine the distracted grief of this fair lady, his mother, touching the miniature.”

“And you think,” cried Miss Bailey, “that my little Fire-lighter—-“

“Is the owner of one of the most exalted titles in Russia, and one of the richest estates. He wore this locket when he was abducted. But we are letting time pass. May I ask you”–this to the Consul–“to order my car? His Highness must be removed at once into suitable surroundings.”

“Then my mission is accomplished,” said Miss Bailey, and rose to take her leave. But never had she encountered cordiality so insistent as these courteous gentlemen then exhibited. She must, she really must, go to the hospital with them and see the end of the affair. In vain she pleaded other engagements, and promised to telephone later in the evening to hear whether the Prince’s interview with the waif had corroborated the evidence of the locket. She was offered the use of the official telephone for the breaking of her engagements, and when her hosts left her alone to achieve this purpose, they quite calmly locked her in.