"If I did he would produce the evidence against me," declared the Crown-Prince.

A silence then fell between the pair. Suddenly Karl asked:

"Does Von Heltzendorff know?"

"He knows nothing," was "Willie's" answer. "The Emperor questioned him, but he was in ignorance of Minckwitz's existence. He was naturally surprised, but I did not regard it as judicious to enlighten him."

"He is your confidential adjutant. If I were you I should tell him the truth. No time should be lost, remember."

Then, after a few seconds of silence. Von Pappenheim went on:

"Why, I never thought of it! My sister Margarete knows Minckwitz. She might perhaps be useful to us--eh?"

"Why, yes!" cried "Willie," "a woman can frequently accomplish a thing where a man would fail. A most excellent idea. Let us leave the others to their sport and get back to the schloss and discuss a line of action--eh?"

And in agreement the pair emerged from their ambush, and retraced their steps along the path they had come.

Still greatly puzzled at the nature of the secret which the Crown-Prince was withholding from me, I came out of my hiding-place and presently rejoined the party.

That night we all dined together, as was our habit when at Oels, but I saw that "Willie" was upset and nervous, and noticed that he drank his champagne heavily. On the contrary, Von Pappenheim was wary and watchful.

Next evening Von Pappenheim's sister Margarete, fair-haired, _pet.i.te_ and rather doll-like, arrived at the Castle.

During dinner an Imperial courier arrived from Berlin with a letter from the Emperor, and "Willie" opened it, read it, and then, excusing himself, left the table. I rose and followed him, as was my duty, but when outside the room His Highness sent me back, saying in a thick, husky voice:

"I shall not want you. Von Heltzendorff; I will write the reply myself."

On my return the guests were discussing the effect of the Emperor's message upon their host, Von Pappenheim being particularly anxious. He said something in a low voice to his sister, when the latter became at once thoughtful. Indeed, the remainder of the meal was a very dull affair, and it was with relief that we rose and went out into the big ancient hall, with its vaulted ceiling, where coffee was always served.

The courier had left on his return journey to the capital, yet "Willie"

did not again reappear. At eleven o'clock I found him lying in a very advanced state of intoxication upon the sofa in the room set apart for me for my writing. Near him stood an empty brandy bottle and an empty syphon of soda-water.

I called his faithful valet, and together we half carried him to his room, where he was undressed and put to bed. Hardly had I returned to my room when Von Pappenheim entered in search of his host.

"His Highness is not well, and has retired to his room," I said. "He expressed a desire to see n.o.body to-night."

Von Pappenheim's face changed.

"Oh!" he cried in despair. "Why did he not see me and tell me the truth!

Precious hours are flying, and we must act if the situation is to be saved."

"What situation?" I asked, in pretended ignorance.

"You know nothing, Von Heltzendorff, eh?" he asked, looking me straight in the face.

"Nothing," was my reply.

"You have no knowledge of the trap into which the Crown-Prince fell when he was in Paris with you six months ago, and when he and I first met?"

"A trap! What do you mean?"

"Has he told you nothing?"

"Not a syllable."

"Ah! Then I cannot be frank with you until I obtain His Highness's permission. He told me that you knew nothing, but I did not believe it.

Knowing well what implicit confidence he places in you, I believed that you knew the ghastly truth."

"You alarm me," I said. "If the situation is grave, then I may be able to be of some a.s.sistance, more especially if time is pressing."

He hesitated, but refused to reveal a single fact before receiving the Crown-Prince's permission.

Into what trap had "Willie" fallen during our last visit to Paris I could not conceive. His wild orgies in the Montmartre, his constant absences alone, his terrible craving for excitement, his wild and reckless search for pleasure in the lowest haunts of vice, had ever been a source of anxiety to me. Times without number had I lifted a warning finger, only to be derided and ridiculed by the son of the All-Highest One.

Next day, soon after His Highness was dressed, he entered my room.

"Heltzendorff," he said, "I have been chatting with Von Pappenheim and his sister upon a little matter of business which closely concerns myself. I want you to leave in an hour's time and go to Hanover. In the Kirchroder Stra.s.se, No. 16, out at Kleefeld there lives a certain man named Minckwitz--a Pole by birth. He has two nieces--one about twenty and the other two years older. With them you have no concern. All I want is that you engage a photographer, or, better, yourself take a snapshot of this man Minckwitz, and bring it to me. Be discreet and trust no one with the secret of your journey."

"Exactly. There is a doubt as to the man's ident.i.ty, eh?"

"Willie" nodded in the affirmative.

Satisfied that I should at last see the mysterious person whose ident.i.ty the Emperor had wished to establish, I set out from Oels on my long journey right across Germany.

In due course I arrived in Hanover, and found the house situate in the pleasant suburb. Here I found that "Willie's" suspicions were correct, and the man Minckwitz was living under the name of Sembach and pretending to be a musician. I watched, and very soon with my own camera took in secret a snapshot of the mysterious individual as he walked in the street. With this I left two days later on my return to Oels.

The photograph was that of a thin, narrow-faced, deep-eyed man, with a scraggy, pointed beard--a typical Pole, and when I handed it to "Willie" he held his breath.

"Look!" he cried, turning to Von Pappenheim and his sister, who were both present. "Look! There is no mistake! That is the man. What shall we do? No time must be lost. How can I act?"

Brother and sister exchanged glances blankly. From inquiries I had made in Hanover, it seemed that the man was a stranger, a music-master, who had arrived there about a month ago. I feared to make inquiry through the police, because my official capacity as personal-adjutant to the Crown-Prince was too well known, and suspicion might have thus been aroused.

The trio again held secret counsel, but I was not told the nature of their deliberations. All I knew was that the Crown-Prince was in some terrible and most dangerous difficulty.

That afternoon I met the girl Margarete walking alone in the grounds near the Schloss. The autumn sun was pleasant, though there was a sharp nip in the air, which told of the coming of the early Silesian winter.

Most of the trees were already bare, and the ground was carpeted with the gold-brown leaves of the great beeches.

We had walked together for some distance, when I suddenly halted and asked her point-blank why they were all in such great fear of Herr Minckwitz.

She started, staring at me with her big blue eyes.

"His Highness has not told you, Count. Therefore, it would ill become me to reveal his secret," was her cold rebuke.

"But if the situation is so grave, and if I have been entrusted with the secret mission to Hanover, I may, perhaps, be of service in the matter.

I understand that you are acquainted with Herr Minckwitz, _alias_ Sembach--eh?"

"Who told you that?"