This time, a note was handed in. Collins closed the door,
tore open the envelope nervously, and ran his eyes quickly over the
contents.
"Come out here, you beggar," he called, and Vernon reappeared on the
threshold. "Take a look at this," he added, and held out the note.
"Maybe you won't be so cocksure hereafter that diplomats are always
making mountains out of mole-hills."
Vernon took the paper and read it slowly, his face growing blanker and
more blank as he proceeded. Then he went back to the beginning and read
it aloud:
"The Prince of Markeld admired
greatly Lord Vernon's recent prompt
and chivalrous action, which he had the
privilege of witnessing. He is sure,
however, that His Lordship's illness
cannot be so serious as represented, and
hopes that His Lordship will not persist
in refusing him an audience. Such a
course would be neither ingenuous nor
fair."
For a moment, no one spoke, then Blake gave vent to a low whistle.
"Well," he said, dazedly; "so the cat's out of the bag! What's to be
done?"
"There's only one thing that can be done," Collins said sharply. "I've
already pointed out what that is," and he sat down at the table and
wrote a rapid message. "How will this do? 'Lord Vernon will be pleased
to see the Prince of Markeld at five o'clock this afternoon.
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