Quentin, during the remainder of the run to Brussels, turned the new situation over and over in his mind.  That the prince was ready to acknowledge him as a dangerous rival gave him much satisfaction and inspired the hope that Miss Garrison had given her lover some cause for alarm.  The decisive movement on the part of Prince Ugo to forestall any advantage he might acquire while near her in Brussels was a surprise and something of a shock to him.  It was an admission, despite his position and the pledge he had from the girl herself, that the Italian did not feel secure in the premises, and was willing to resort to trickery, if not villainy, to circumvent the American who knew him in other days.  Phil felt positive that the move against him was the result of deliberate intent, else how should his fair friend of the early evening know that a plot was brewing?  Unquestionably she had heard or learned of the prince’s directions to the duke.  Her own interest in the prince was, of course, the inspiration.  To no one but herself could she entrust the delivery of the warning.  Her agitated wish, openly expressed, that Quentin might win the contest had a much deeper meaning than would appear on the surface.

From the moment he received the warning the affair began to take on a new aspect.  Aside from the primal fact that he was desperately in love with Dorothy Garrison, there was now the fresh incentive that he must needs win her against uncertain odds and in the face of surprising opposition.  In this day and age of the world, in affairs of the heart, an American does not look for rivalry that bears the suggestion of medieval romance.  The situation savored too much of the story-books that are born of the days when knights held sway, to appeal natural in the eyes of an up-to-date, unromantic gentleman from New York, that city where love affairs adjust themselves without the aid of a novelist.

Quentin, of course, was loath to believe that Prince Ugo would resort to underhand means to checkmate a rival whose real purpose had not yet been announced.  In six weeks the finest wedding in years was to occur in Brussels.  St. Gudule, that historic cathedral, was to be the scene of a ceremony on which all European newspapers had the eye of comment.  American papers had printed columns concerning the engagement of the beautiful Miss Garrison.  Everywhere had been published the romantic story of this real love match.  What, then, should the prince fear?

The train rumbled into the station at Brussels near midnight, and Turk sallied forth for a cab.  This he obtained without the usual amount of haggling on his part, due to the disappointing fact that the Belgian driver could understand nothing more than the word Bellevue, while Turk could interpret nothing more than the word franc.  As Quentin was crossing to the cab he encountered Duke Laselli.  Both started, and, after a moment’s pause, greeted each other.

“I thought I saw you at Mons,” said Phil, after the first expressions of surprise.