My jaw dropped with horror at the thought; but the jailer quickly came to my rescue.
“Oh, sire,” he said, “the ancient law! I will see that no communication is had with him, but the ancient law prohibits depriving any person of his antennae.”
Yuri replied: “This is not a person; it is an animal. And furthermore, his apparatus is not antennae, strictly speaking.”
Poblath was equal to the occasion. “The ancient law applies equally to animals, as you well know, my prince. And, as for his antennae, they are antennae to me, unless King Kew rules otherwise.”
“Leave his antennae, then,” snapped Yuri, “and remove his belt.”
But Poblath was obdurate, and stood upon his rights. “If his belt serves his antennae, I demand a kingly ruling. I have spoken.”
“A ruling you shall have,” he gritted, as he turned away. “Meanwhile, keep the prisoner by himself.”
“Your will is law,” Poblath answered, with mock meekness.
So at last I had a friend in Cupia. When the mango returned to bring me my supper I determined to take him into my confidence.
“Poblath,” I said, as a feeler, “who rescued the Princess Lilla from the Formians?”
“It was Prince Yuri,” he replied. “It is the one decent act of his life, though his beautiful cousin does not seem to be particularly grateful to him for it.”
“Then she is not yet betrothed to him?” I asked.
“Not yet, nor ever!” was the emphatic answer.
“Poblath,” I declared, “Yuri did _not_ rescue the princess. _I_ did it. Can you get word to her that I am here?”
“By the blue-horned woofus!” he ejaculated. “Can I? Just watch me!”
“If you straighten this out,” I said, “I shall be most eternally grateful.”
At which the mango quoted sententiously. “‘He who expects gratitude hath not conferred a favor.’” Then he hurried away.
Late that evening he returned to my cell with a most exquisite specimen of Cupian femininity, whom he introduced as Bthuh, maid in waiting to Princess Lilla.
If Lilla was all that was desirable in a blonde, Bthuh was all that was desirable in a brunette; full lips, clear olive skin, dark languorous eyes, a seductive form. A chestnut baby-doll, with smoldering southern passion underneath. She was a red rose, overripe. Although my allegiance never wavered for an instant from the lovely Lilla, yet I must confess that the presence of this exotic beauty strangely stirred me. And she smiled at me, as though she thought me not half bad, either.