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Somehow—she could not explain why—that seemed to Bessie Tait, of Poppy Peaks, to shut her out more than any account of a grand public entertainment.

A week! She was desperate.

And if the British press wasn’t to be roused by Terry’s ghastly kidnaping, what could a lady do? All day she galloped up and down her suite, raging at her maid, at Humberstone, even at Miss Tingle, the refined lady secretary. The cheerful sounds of Terry, Ginger, and Josephus the Margate Wader, from Terry’s room, the sound of yelps and giggles and tremendous chasings after a tennis ball, irritated her the more; made her forget the small voice within her that whispered, “Now be careful, Bess—don’t monkey with the buzz saw. ”

“Oh, shut up!” she said to the alarmed mentor and, sending Miss Tingle to buy stationery which she didn’t need, the maid to buy hair nets which she never used, and Humberstone to go back to his room and continue doing nothing save look impressive, she dashed to the telephone and snarled, “I want to speak to Suite Four-B. ”

“I’m sorry, madame, but I can’t connect you with that apartment. It’s taken by the Queen of Slovaria. ”

“Good Lord, don’t you suppose I know that? The Queen and I are great friends. ”

“Very sorry, madame, but I have my orders. I can connect you with the bureau of Count Elopatak, Her Majesty’s equerry. ”

Bessie was puzzled as to why one should be connected telephonically with a bureau, an object which to her was firmly associated with Mr. Rabbit Tait’s collars and pink silk undergarments, and equally puzzled as to what an equerry did for a living. “Sounds like a horse—and at that, I guess a horse is about the only bird connected with Her Maj that I’m going to get to talk to,” she reflected tragically, but she said meekly, “Very well, I’ll speak to his countship. ”

She then spoke in turn, so far as she could later make out, with an American who was breeches buyer for Eglantine, Katz and Kominsky, of Cleveland, Ohio, and who seemed to have no connection whatever with the Royal House of Slovaria; with an Englishwoman who appeared to be the stenographer to the secretary of the equerry; to the secretary of the equerry; to an indignant Englishman who asserted that he was no Slovarian equerry but, on the contrary, a coffee planter from British Guiana; to Count Elopatak, and at last to a man with a swart and bearded voice who admitted to being the secretary of Queen Sidonie.

But he didn’t seem to care for telephoning. He kept making sounds as though he were about to hang up, and Bessie held him only by a string of such ejaculations as, “Now you must get this clear!” and “This is very important!”

Hadn’t Her Majesty, Bessie demanded, received the letter from Mrs. T. Benescoten Tait, of California, mother of the celebrated—

Yes, the secretary seemed to remember some such letter but of course letters from strangers were never considered.

Well, then, she was willing to take the matter up over the phone.

Take up WHAT matter? There were no matters, thank heaven, which had to be taken up!

But had they asked His Young Majesty whether he might not like to meet the celebrated boy—

His Majesty cared to meet no one and really, if Madame would be so kind, there were innumerable affairs of the most pressing necessity and—click!

This time Bessie expressed her opinion in a subdued manner. “But I’m not licked yet. I’ve got an Idea!”

When Mrs. T. Benescoten Tait had an Idea, Hollywood sat up and looked nervous, but the gray welter of city beyond the windows of the Hotel Picardie looked strangely indifferent.

“Of course, none of her hired men—equerries or whatever fancy names they want to call themselves—would understand it, but I’ll bet Sidonie herself would be tickled pink to get some high-class publicity! It’s just a matter of getting to her and explaining it,” considered Bessie. “And we’d have such a nice time talking about our boys. Well, then, on the job—get past all these darn watchdogs. ”

She marched into Terry’s bedroom. She chased Ginger out of the room, shut Josephus the Margate Wader in Humberstone’s room, and remarked to Terry with a maternal sweetness which caused him to look alarmed and suspicious, “Come, my little mannie, put on your Fauntleroy suit; we’re going to see Queen Sidonie!”