“Oh, there’s a plan,” said O’Toole.  “To be sure, there’s always a plan.”  And he sat down again heavily, as though he put no faith in plans.

Misset and Gaydon drew their chairs closer to Wogan’s and instinctively lowered their voices to the tone of a whisper.

“Is her Highness warned of the attempt?” asked Gaydon.

“As soon as I obtained the King’s permission,” replied Wogan, “I hurried to Innspruck.  There I saw Chateaudoux, the chamberlain of the Princess’s mother.  Here is a letter he dropped in the cathedral for me to pick up.”

He drew the letter from his fob and handed it to Gaydon.  Gaydon read it and handed it to Misset.  Misset nodded and handed it to O’Toole, who read it four times and handed it back to Gaydon with a flourish of the hand as though the matter was now quite plain to him.

“Chateaudoux has a sweetheart,” said he, sententiously.  “Very good; I do not think the worse of him.”

Gaydon glanced a second time through the letter.

“The Princess says that you must have the Prince Sobieski’s written consent.”

“I went from Innspruck to Ohlau,” said Wogan.  “I had some trouble, and the reason of my coming leaked out.  The Countess de Berg suspected it from the first.  She had a friend, an Englishwoman, Lady Featherstone, who was at Ohlau to outwit me.”

“Lady Featherstone!” said Misset.  “Who can she be?”

Wogan told them of his first meeting with Lady Featherstone on the Florence road, but he knew no more about her, and not one of the three knew anything at all.

“So the secret’s out,” said Gaydon.  “But you outstripped it.”

“Barely,” said Wogan.  “Forty miles away I had last night to fight for my life.”

“But you have the Prince’s written consent?” said Misset.

“I had last night, but I made a spill of it to light my pipe.  There were six men against me.  Had that been found on my dead body, why, there was proof positive of our attempt, and the attempt foiled by sure safeguards.  As it is, if we lie still a little while, their fears will cease and the rumour become discredited.”

Misset leaned across Gaydon’s arm and scanned the letter.

“But her Highness writes most clearly she will not move without that sure token of her father’s consent.”

Wogan drew from his breast pocket a snuff-box made from a single turquoise.

“Here’s a token no less sure.  It was Prince Sobieski’s New Year’s gift to me,—­a jewel unique and in an unique setting.  This must persuade her.  His father, great King John of Poland, took it from the Grand Vizier’s tent when the Turks were routed at Vienna.”

O’Toole reached out his hand and engulfed the jewel.

“Sure,” said he, “it is a pretty sort of toy.  It would persuade any woman to anything so long as she was promised it to hang about her neck.  You must promise it to the Princess, but not give it to her—­no, lest when she has got it she should be content to remain in Innspruck.  I know.  You must promise it.”