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300 young Baron Osterholz (who had but recently returned to New York after a tour of the West as a chorus-man in "The Merry Widow"); and Prince Waldemar de Bosky, excused for the night from Spangler's on account of a severe attack of ptomaine poisoning.

"What do you want?" whispered Cricklewick, angrily, passing close to the curtains and cocking his ear without appearing to do so.

"Come out here," whispered Julia.

"Don't hiss like that! I can't come."

"You must. It's something dreadful."

"Is it McFaddan's wife?" whispered Cricklewick, in sudden dismay.

"Worse than that. The police."

"My Gawd!"

The butler looked wildly about. He caught McFaddan's eye, and signalled him to come at once. If it was the police, McFaddan was the man to handle them. All the princes and lords and counts in New York combined were not worth McFaddan's little finger in an emergency like this.

At the top of the steps Julia explained to the perspiring Cricklewick and the incredulous McFaddan.

"They're at the gate down there, two of 'em in full uniform,—awful looking things,—and a man in a silk hat and evening dress. He says if we don't let him up he'll have the joint pulled."

"We'll see about that," said McFaddan gruffly and not at all in the voice or manner of a well-trained footman. He led the way down the steps, followed by Cricklewick and the trembling Julia. At the last landing but one, he halted, and in a superlatively respectful