This note he delivered to the khitmutgar, with orders to return to him with a reply.  Then, with a certain massive patience, he resumed his cigar and settled himself to wait.

The khitmutgar did not return, but he showed no sign of exasperation.  His eyes stared gravely into space.  There was not a shade of anxiety in them.

And it was thus that Nina Perceval found him when at last she came lightly in from the veranda in answer to his message.  She entered without the smallest hesitation, but with that regal air of hers before which men did involuntary homage.  Her shadowy eyes met his without fear or restraint of any sort, but they held no gladness either.  Her remoteness chilled him.

“Why did you send me that extraordinary message?” she said.  “Wasn’t it a little unnecessary?”

He had risen to meet her.  He paused to lay aside his cigar before he answered, and in the pause that dogged expression that had surprised Mrs. Chester descended like a mask and covered the first spontaneous impulse to welcome her that had dominated him.

“It was necessary that I should see you,” he said.

“I really don’t know why,” she returned.  “I wrote a note to thank you for the care you took of me the other night.  That was days ago.  I suppose you received it?”

“Yes, I received it,” said Hone.  “I have been trying, without success, to see you ever since.”

She made a slight impatient movement.

“I haven’t seen any one.  I was upset after that horrible adventure.  I shouldn’t be seeing you now, only your ridiculous note made me wonder if there was anything wrong.  Is there?”

She faced him with the direct inquiry.  There was a faint frown between her brows.  Her delicate beauty possessed him like a charm.  He felt his blood begin to quicken, but he kept himself in check.

“There is nothing wrong, Princess,” he said steadily.  “I am, as ever, your humble servant, only I’ve got to come to the point with you before you go.  I’ve got to make the most of this shred of opportunity which you have given me against your will.  You are not disposed to be generous, I see; but I appeal to your sense of justice.  Is it fair play at all to fling a man into gaol, and to refuse to let him plead on his own behalf?”

The annoyance passed like a shadow from her face.  She began to smile.

“What can you mean?” she said.  “Is it a joke—­a riddle?  Am I supposed to laugh?”

“Heaven help me, no!” he said.  “There is only one woman in the world that I can’t trifle with, and that’s yourself.”

“Oh, but what an admission!” She laughed at him, softly mocking.  “And I’m so fond of trifling, too.  Then what can you possibly want with me?  I suppose you have really called to say good-bye.”