"Then, Mr. Bourne, I am still more deeply in your debt," she declared; "you realised that those letters contained a woman's secret, and you withheld it from the others. How can I sufficiently thank you?"

"By forgiving me," he said. "Remember, I am a thief, and if you wished you could call the hotel manager and have me arrested."

"I could hardly treat in that way a man who has acted so n.o.bly and gallantly as you have," she remarked, with perfect frankness. "If those letters had fallen into other hands they might, have found their way back to the Court, and to the King."

"I understand perfectly," he said, in a low voice. "I saw by the dates, and gathered from the tenor in which they were written that they concealed some hidden romance. To expose what was written there would have surely been a most cowardly act--meaner even than stealing a helpless, ill-judged woman's jewels. No, Princess," he went on; "I beg that although I stand before you a thief, to whom the inside of a gaol is no new experience, a man who lives by his wits and his agility and ingenuity in committing theft, you will not entirely condemn me. I still, I hope, retain a sense of honour."

"You speak like a gentleman," she said. "Who were your parents?"

"My father, Princess, was a landed proprietor in Norfolk. After college I went to Sandhurst, and then entered the British Army; but gambling proved my ruin, and I was dismissed in disgrace for the forgery of a bill in the name of a brother officer. As a consequence, my father left me nothing, as I was a second son; and for years I drifted about England, an actor in a small travelling company; but gradually I fell lower and lower, until one day in London I met a well-known card-sharper, who took me as his partner, and together we lived well in the elegant rooms to which we inveigled men and there cheated them. The inevitable came at last--arrest and imprisonment. I got three years, and after serving it, came abroad and joined Roddy Redmayne's gang, with whom I am at present connected."

The career of the man before her was certainly a strangely adventurous one. He had not told her one t.i.the of the remarkable romance of his life. He had been a gentleman, and though now a jewel thief, he still adhered to the traditions of his family whenever a woman was concerned.

He was acute, ingenious beyond degree, and a man of endless resource, yet he scorned to rob a woman who was poor.

The Princess Claire, a quick reader of character, saw in him a man who was a criminal, not by choice, but by force of circ.u.mstance. He was now still suffering from that false step he had taken in imitating his brother officer's signature and raising money upon the bill. However she might view his actions, the truth remained that he had saved her from a terrible accident.

"Yours has been an unfortunate career, Mr. Bourne," she remarked. "Can you not abandon this very perilous profession of yours? Is there no way by which you can leave your companions and lead an honest life?"

When she spoke she made others feel how completely the purely natural and the purely ideal can blend into each other, yet she was a woman breathing thoughtful breath, walking in all her natural loveliness with a heart as frail-strung, as pa.s.sion-touched, as ever fluttered in a female bosom.

"Ah, Princess!" he cried earnestly, "I beg of you not to reproach me; willingly I would leave it all. I would welcome work and an honest life; but, alas! nowadays it is too late. Besides, who would take me in any position of trust, with my black record behind me? n.o.body." And he shook his head. "In books one reads of reformed thieves, but there are none in real life. A thief, when once a thief, must remain so till the end of his days--of liberty."

"But is it not a great sacrifice to your companions to give up my jewellery?" she asked in a soft, very kindly voice. "They, of course, recognise its great value?"

"Yes," he smiled. "Roddy, our chief, is a good judge of stones--as good, probably, as the experts at Spink's or Streeter's. One has to be able to tell good stuff from rubbish when one deals in diamonds, as we do. Such a quant.i.ty of fake is worn now, and, as you may imagine, we don't care to risk stealing paste."

"But how cleverly my bag was taken!" she said. "Who took it? He was an elderly man."

"Roddy Redmayne," was Bourne's reply. "The man who, if your Highness will consent to meet him, will hand it back to you intact."

"You knew, I suppose, that it contained jewels?"

"We knew that it contained something of value. Roddy was advised of it by telegraph from Lucerne."

"From Lucerne? Then one of your companions was there?"

"Yes, at your hotel. An attempt was made to get it while you were on the platform awaiting the train for Paris, but you kept too close a watch. Therefore, Roddy received a telegram to meet you upon your arrival in Paris, and he met you."

What he told her surprised her. She had been quite ignorant of any thief making an attempt to steal the bag at Lucerne, and she now saw how cleverly she had been watched and met.

"And when am I to meet Mr. Redmayne?" she asked.

"At any place and hour your Imperial Highness will appoint," was his reply. "But, of course, I need not add that you will first give your pledge of absolute secrecy--that you will say nothing to the police of the way your jewels have been returned to you."

"I have already given my promise. Mr. Redmayne may rely upon my silence. Where shall we fix the meeting? Here?"

"No, no," he laughed--"not in the hotel. There is an agent of police always about the hall. Indeed, I run great risk of being recognised, for I fear that the fact of your having reported your loss to the police at the station has set Monsieur Hamard and his friends to watch for us.

You see, they unfortunately possess our photographs. No. It must be outside--say at some small, quiet cafe at ten o'clock to-night, if it will not disturb your Highness too much."

"Disturb me?" she laughed. "I ought to be only too thankful to you both for restoring my jewels to me."

"And we, on our part, are heartily ashamed of having stolen them from you. Well, let us say at the Cafe Vachette, a little place on the left-hand side of the Rue de Seine. You cross the Pont des Arts, and find it immediately; or better, take a cab. Remember, the Vachette, in the Rue de Seine, at ten o'clock. You will find us both sitting at one of the little tables outside, and perhaps your Highness will wear a thick veil, for a pretty woman in that quarter is so quickly noticed."

She smiled at his final words, but promised to carry out his directions.

Surely it was a situation unheard of--an escaped princess making a rendezvous with two expert thieves in order to receive back her own property.

"Then we shall be there awaiting you," he said. "And now I fear that I've kept you far too long, Princess. Allow me to take my leave."

She gave him her hand, and thanked him warmly, saying--

"Though your profession is a dishonourable one, Mr. Bourne, you have, nevertheless, proved to me that you are at heart still a gentleman."

"I am gratified that your Imperial Highness should think so," he replied, and bowing, withdrew, and stepped out of the hotel by the restaurant entrance at the rear. He knew that the agent of police was idling in the hall that led out into the Rue St. Lazare, and he had no desire to run any further risk of detection, especially while that bag with its precious contents remained in the shabby upstairs room in the Rue Lafayette.

Her Highness took little Ignatia and drove in a cab along the Avenue des Champs Elysees, almost unable to realise the amazing truth of what her mysterious rescuer of two years ago had revealed to her. She now saw plainly the reason he had left Treysa in secret. He was wanted by the police, and feared that they would recognise him by the photograph sent from the Prefecture in Paris. And now, on a second occasion, he was serving her against his own interests, and without any thought of reward!

With little Ignatia prattling at her side, she drove along, her mind filled with that strange interview and the curious appointment that she had made for that evening.

Later that day, after dining in the restaurant, she put Ignatia to bed and sat with her till nine o'clock, when, leaving her asleep, she put on a jacket, hat, and thick veil--the one she had worn when she escaped from the palace--and locking the door, went out.

In the Rue St. Lazare she entered a cab and drove across the Pont des Arts, alighting at the corner of the Rue de Seine, that long, straight thoroughfare that leads up to the Arcade of the Luxembourg, and walked along on the left-hand side in search of the Cafe Vachette.

At that hour the street was almost deserted, for the night was chilly, with a boisterous wind, and the small tables outside the several uninviting cafes and _bra.s.series_ were mostly deserted. Suddenly, however, as she approached a dingy little place where four tables stood out upon the pavement, two on either side of the doorway, a man's figure rose, and with hat in hand, came forward to meet her.

She saw that it was Bourne, and with scarcely a word, allowed herself to be conducted to the table where an elderly, grey-haired man had risen to meet her.

"This is Mr. Redmayne," explained Bourne, "if I may be permitted to present him to you."

The Princess smiled behind her veil, and extended her hand. She recognised him in an instant as the gallant old gentleman in the bright red cravat, who, on pretence of a.s.sisting her to alight, had made off with her bag.

She, an Imperial Archd.u.c.h.ess, seated herself there between the pair of thieves.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

IN WHICH "THE MUTE" IS REVEALED.

When, in order to save appearances, Bourne had ordered her a _bock_, Roddy Redmayne bent to her, and in a low whisper said,--

"I beg, Princess, that you will first accept my most humble apologies for what I did the other day. As to your Highness's secrecy, I place myself entirely in your hands."

"I have already forgiven both Mr. Bourne and yourself," was her quiet answer, lifting her veil and sipping the _bock_, in order that her hidden face should not puzzle the waiter too much. "Your friend has told me that, finding certain letters in the bag, you discovered that it belonged to me."

"Exactly, and we were all filled with regret," said the old thief. "We have heard from the newspapers of your flight from Treysa, owing to your domestic unhappiness, and we decided that it would be a coward's action to take a woman's jewels in such circ.u.mstances. Therefore we resolved to try and discover you and to hand them back intact."

"I am very grateful," was her reply. "But is it not a considerable sacrifice on your part? Had you disposed of them you would surely have obtained a good round sum?"

The man smiled.

"We will not speak of sacrifice, your Highness," the old fellow said.