“Carmenita Malban is dead, your excellency,” said Bob, coolly.

“I do not know what you are talking about, sir,” grated the prince.  “Dorothy Garrison is here, held against her will, and I, her affianced husband, command you to surrender her.”

“Have you the authority to take her, if I refuse to obey?” asked the other, with exasperating coolness.

“These officers have the authority to arrest you and to take her from your hands, violently, if necessary.”

“Oh, well, that makes a difference, of course.  Miss Garrison is here, Prince Ravorelli, but I doubt your authority to take her away.”

“There is a reward for her, dead or alive,” said Court Sallaconi, savagely.

“And for the abductors,” added the burly man from Luxemburg.  “I shall have to place you under arrest, my lord.”

“One moment, my good man.  Miss Garrison is her own mistress, I believe?” addressing the prince.

“What has that to do with it?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, but it maybe important.  If you will kindly request your followers to remain in the courtyard, you may enter the castle and converse with Miss Garrison herself, Prince Paves—­I should say Ravorelli.”  There was a wild, hunted look in the Italian’s eyes, and there was murder in his heart.  “I will ask you and the count and the duke and Officer Luxemburg to come with me.”

With rare dignity Lord Saxondale strode across the flags and deliberately threw open the huge castle door.  After a moment of indecision and not a little trepidation, Prince Ugo followed, with his two countrymen not far behind.  The Luxemburg officer gave hurried instructions to his men and took his place among the favored few.

It was a sharply-drawn hiss, ending in a triumphant “ah,” that came from the lips of Ugo when he was face to face with Philip Quentin.  His glittering eyes plainly said that his suspicions were confirmed.  The discovery of the fact, a week before, that the two Americans had not sailed for New York provided the foundation for a shrewd guess and he had not been wrong.

“It is as I suspected,” he said, tersely.  “I trust I am not too late to save Miss Garrison from outrage.”

“One moment, please,” commanded Lord Bob.  “You are here through sufferance, and you must, for the time being, imagine yourself a gentleman.  If you care to talk over the situation with us while we wait for Lady Saxondale and Miss Garrison, I shall be only too glad to have you do so.  Will you be seated, gentlemen?”

“We are not here to be directed by you, Lord Saxondale.  We have tracked this scoundrel to earth, and we are—­” Ugo was saying hotly when his lordship turned on him sternly.

“Mr. Quentin is my guest.  Another remark of that character and I will throw you bodily from the room.  This is my house, Prince Ravorelli.”  Paying no heed to the malevolent glare in the Italian’s eyes, Saxondale turned and bade a servant ask Miss Garrison to come down if it pleased her to do so.