Selim came to him in the midst of his reflections, bearing a thick, rain-soaked envelope.

“It was found, excellency, inside the southern gate, and it is meant for you,” said Selim.  Chase gingerly slashed open the envelope with his fruit knife.  He laughed ruefully as he read the simple but laborious message from Jacob von Blitz.

“Where are your warships all this time?  They are not coming to you ever.  Good-bye.  You got to die yet, too.  Your friend, Jacob von Blitz.  And my wives, too.”

Chase stuffed the blurred, sticky letter into his pocket and arose to stretch himself.

“There’s something coming to you, Jacob,” he said, much to the wonder of Selim.  “Selim, unless I miss my guess pretty badly, we’ll be having a message—­not from Garcia—­but from Rasula before long.  You’ve never heard of Garcia?  Well, come along.  I’ll tell you something about him as we take our morning stroll.  How are my cigarettes holding out?”

“They run low, sahib.  Neenah has given all of hers to me for you, excellency, and I have demanded those of the wives of Von Blitz.”

“Selim, you must not forget that you are a gentleman.  That was most ungallant.  But I suppose you got them?”

“No, sahib.  They refused to give them up.  They are saving them for Mr. Britt,” said Selim dejectedly.

“Ah, the ficklety of women!” he sighed.  “There’s a new word for you, Selim—­ficklety.  I like it better than fickleness, don’t you?  Sounds like frailty, too.  Was there any shooting after I went to bed?” His manner changed suddenly from the frivolous to the serious.

“No, sahib.”

“I don’t understand their game,” he mused, a perplexed frown on his brow.  “They’ve quit popping away at us.”

It was far past midday when he heard from Rasula.  The disagreeable weather may have been more or less responsible for the ruffling of Chase’s temper during those long, dreary hours of waiting.  Be that as it may, he was sorely tried by the feeling of loneliness that attached itself to him.  He had seen the Princess but once, and then she was walking briskly, wrapped in a rain coat, followed by her shivering dogs, and her two Rapp-Thorberg soldiers!  Somehow she failed to see Chase as he sauntered hungrily, almost imploringly across the upper terrace, in plain view.  Perhaps, after all, it was not the weather.

Rasula’s messenger came to the gates and announced that he had a letter for Mr. Chase.  He was admitted to the grounds and conducted to the sick chamber of “the commandant.”  Hollingsworth Chase read the carefully worded, diplomatic letter from the native lawyer, his listeners paying the strictest attention.  After the most courteous introductory, Rasula had this to say: