While speaking Juve was watching carefully the expression on Marie Pascal's face. She had grown very pale and at the end protested with a cry:

"No, no, you are wrong. The King had not two mistresses. And besides, the chemise I found was made of coarse linen, and would not certainly be worn by that sort of woman."

"Ah," thought Juve, "I wonder if Marie Pascal by any chance is in love with his Majesty. That would explain many things. To begin with, the reason why she was watching Susy's window. Also why the King, touched perhaps by the caprice of this girl, had had a row with his mistress, and finally why Marie Pascal, having seen him again, had invented the story of the chemise, which could not be found. This young girl is imprudent. She lets it be seen too clearly how disagreeable the hypothesis would be to her. After reasoning thus to himself Juve turned to the young girl.

"Well, Mademoiselle Marie, if my supposition is wrong there can be only one explanation, namely, that some woman committed the crime, a woman who was hidden in the apartment and who subsequently hid the chemise in the Marquis de Serac's laundry bag, and then having learned of your discovery returned to your room to recover the compromising article." Marie Pascal remained silent. Juve continued with the intention of alarming her out of her reserve.

"But if this last supposition is the right one we must admit that it is none the less unfortunate for the King. For once the chemise disappeared the King must be held guilty until further discovery."

Marie Pascal replied simply:

"It is frightful. The more so because I had this proof in my hand, and I know very well he is innocent."

Juve picked up his hat and began buttoning his overcoat.

"Naturally, Mademoiselle, you yourself know ... and I may add that I am of your opinion, but still you have no proof to offer, and consequently...."

Marie Pascal wrung her hands in desperation.

"What is to be done? How can the truth come to light.... Ah, I shall never forgive myself for having at first accused the King and then losing the proof of his innocence."

"Oh, don't take it to heart too much. In criminal affairs the first results of the investigator are really conclusive."

Juve nodded to the young girl and rapidly went downstairs smiling to himself. One thing and one alone had developed from his interview. The King denied his guilt.

"The only thing I know," he thought, "is that the concierge affirms that Frederick-Christian was alone when he came to see Susy d'Orsel.... If I can prove that definitely I can also prove by the chain of evidence that the King is guilty. But how to do it?"

Juve hurried through the courtyard, passing the office of Mme. Ceiron, who was out at that moment. As he had already obtained the key of Susy d'Orsel's apartment, her absence did not trouble him.

"I'll be willing to bet," he thought, "that I shall find nothing interesting in her rooms. But it is at least my duty to go over them carefully.... If only I could discover evidence showing that three persons were there together, but that is most unlikely. The officers, the doctors, the concierge and the men who carried the body to the Morgue would have destroyed all traces."

It was not without a slight shudder that Juve entered the apartment where the tragedy occurred. With a real catch at his heart he went through the bright, luxuriously decorated rooms, still giving evidence of a feminine presence.

Death had entered there. The sinister death of crime, brutal, unforeseen. A hundred times more tragic for remaining unexplained. Juve, however, quickly stifled his feelings. He was there to investigate and nothing else mattered. The bedroom presented nothing worthy of notice, the boudoir was in perfect order, also the kitchen and the hall.

Juve entered, finally, the dining-room. It was there, according to the testimony of witnesses, that the crime must have taken place. It was there in any case that Susy d'Orsel had received her lover.

Nothing had been deranged. The table was still set for supper. Two places, side by side, bore mute witness that the King had been alone with his mistress.

Juve at first carefully examined the general lay of the room. The disposition of the chairs, the two knives from the two forks, two fish plates, all went to prove there had been only two persons at the table.

But suddenly he gave a start and his face expressed the keenest interest. He dropped to his knees and carefully examined the floor under the table.

"Unless I am dreaming there are ashes here."

Juve bent forward and noticed at the right of the sofa an ash receiver placed near the edge of the table, and below on the carpet a small heap of gray ash.

"To begin with, we'll admit that Susy d'Orsel flicked the ash off her cigarette ... gray ash from Egyptian tobacco, a woman's cigarette."

He now moved to the left of the sofa.

"In the second place, here is another heap of ashes in this plate ... cigar ashes ... in fact here is the tend showing a German brand.... So the King was sitting on the right of Susy d'Orsel. Less careful, he used his plate instead of an ash receiver."

Now bending down he noticed on the carpet a third heap of ash.

"A third person has been smoking here. For there is no reason why the King should have changed his place and sat at the opposite side of the table where no place is laid.... Also this third person, in smoking a cigarette, and having no plate or ash receiver, dropped his ashes on the carpet."

After a moment's thought Juve took from his pocket a small automatic lighting arrangement and going on his hands and knees under the table began a careful examination of its feet. In a moment he gave an exclamation of joy.

"Ah, I have got it now. This is conclusive."

And in fact Juve had made a most important discovery. The heavy legs of the table were joined by crosspieces and Juve had been able to determine where Susy d'Orsel had rested her feet. He saw also the slight traces of mud where the King had rested his feet. Most important, however, was the fact that further traces of mud had been left by a third pair of feet.

"If only I could identify the feet that were placed here, and whether they belonged to a woman."

A closer examination of the wood made him rise to his feet with a cry. Quickly taking a chair, he placed it before the table in the place that might naturally be occupied by a third guest, and then sat down. This is what he discovered. It was quite impossible for a woman to have been sitting there. Having stretched his legs and rested his feet upon the traces of mud, he discovered that one of the legs of the table came directly between his knees. A woman's skirt would have made this position impossible for her.

"Why, the King was telling the truth! There were three persons in this dining-room a few moments before the crime was committed. And they were Susy d'Orsel, the King and another man."

Juve now threw himself into an armchair and remained buried in thought.

"To sum it up, the King alone is in a position to give me further information.... And if he should refuse to speak or should attempt to lie I have now within my hands the means of forcing him to tell the truth."

He sprang up quickly.

"The next thing to do is to go and see the King."



CHAPTER X

WULFENMIMENGLASCHK

Wulfenmimenglaschk!

Fandor stared in consternation at the individual who had just entered the apartment of Frederick-Christian II.

He was enormously fat and absurd looking. A large red nose stood out between two little blinking eyes; a heavy moustache bushed above his three well-defined chins. In his hand he held a soft green hat, through the ribbon of which was stuck a feather. He wore a wide leather belt containing cartridge cases, and the butts of two revolvers peeped out of his pockets.

The man began once more.

"Wulfen ..."

Fandor stopped him with a movement of impatience.

"Won't you please speak French, so long as we are in France?"

For the twenty-fifth time this strange individual repeated the phrase which apparently meant his name and added in French:

"Head of the Secret Service of the Kingdom of Hesse-Weimar and Attache of your Majesty."

Fandor congratulated himself that the table separated them. He expected at any moment to be shown up as an impostor. But thinking the best plan would be to try and bluff it through he said graciously:

"Sit down, Monsieur Wulf."

"But that isn't possible."

"Yes, it is ... take that chair."

"I should never dare to," answered the police officer.

Fandor insisted.

"We desire you."

Wulf bowed to such formal instructions, murmuring:

"I do so at the order of your Majesty."

Fandor sprang up amazed.

"Does he take me for the King too? That can't be possible. The head of the Secret Service! They must be carrying this joke out to the bitter end. I'm hanged if I can understand it."

"What do you want?"

The man who since his entrance had not taken his eyes off Fandor, now appeared to be considering him with the greatest admiration.

"Ah! Heaven be thanked.... My most cherished desire has come to pass.... Your Majesty has been good enough to allow me the honor of a personal interview."

"He must be mad," thought Fandor.

"Of course I was well acquainted with your august features.... Frederick-Christian II is popular in his kingdom ... his portrait hangs on the walls of private houses as well as public buildings. But your Majesty understands that portraits and the reality are often dissimilar.... Now, although for seventeen years I have belonged to the Secret Service of the Kingdom, I have never before had the honor of meeting his Majesty face to face."

"So, Monsieur Wulf, you think I don't look like my portrait."

"Pardon me, Sire, that is not what I wish to say. The portrait represents your Majesty as being taller and heavier, with a larger moustache and fairer hair."

"In other words," said Fandor, smiling, "my portrait flatters me."

"Oh, Sire, quite the contrary, I assure you."

"Well, what do you want?"

Wulf was evidently waiting for this question. He rose from the seat and made a careful inspection of the room, opening each door to see that no one was outside listening. Then he returned to Fandor and whispered:

"I am here on a secret mission, Sire."

"Well, let's hear what it is."

"I am charged with two commissions, one which interests your Majesty, the other the Kingdom. To begin with, I have come to get your reply to the telegram in cipher which his Highness the Minister of the Interior sent your Majesty yesterday."

"The deuce," thought Fandor, "this is getting annoying. What on earth shall I tell him?"

Then with an air of innocence he asked:

"What telegram are you speaking of? I have received none."

"Your Majesty didn't receive it?"

"Well, you know the service is rotten in France."

"Yes," replied Wulf scornfully, "it's easy to see it's a Republic."

Fandor smiled. If he was compelled to run down his own country for once, it wouldn't matter.

"What can you expect with the continual strikes ... however, that's not our fault, is it, Wulf?"

"Quite true, Sire."

The Chief of the Secret Service leaned toward Fandor and whispered mysteriously.

"I have it, Sire."

"What," inquired Fandor, with somewhat of anxiety.

"The text of the telegram."

Wulf drew out a document and was about to hand it to Fandor, but the latter stopped him with a gesture.

"Read it to me."

"His Highness, the Minister of the Interior, begs to inform your Majesty that since his absence a propaganda unfavorable to the throne is being actively spread in the Court and in the town. The partisans of Prince Gudulfin believe the occasion favorable to seize the Government."

Fandor pretended anger.

"Ah, it's Prince Gudulfin again!"

"Alas, Sire, it is always the Prince."

Fandor repressed a violent laugh.

"Is that all?"

"No, Sire. His Highness the Minister requested to know, in the name of the Queen, when your Majesty has the intention of returning to his Kingdom."

Fandor rose and tapping Wulf amicably on the shoulder replied:

"Tell the Queen that business of the greatest importance keeps me in Paris, but that before long I hope to return to the Court."

Wulf looked at him without answering, and Fandor added with great dignity:

"You can go now."

"But I have a formal order not to return to Glotzbourg without your Majesty, and when your Majesty is ready I am at your orders. Even to-night."

Then he added in a low tone:

"That would be a pity, for in Paris ..."

Fandor glanced quickly at him. So this fat police officer was like the rest of the world. He, too, wanted to have his fling in Paris.

At this moment they were interrupted by the arrival of the servant carrying a tray of cocktails. Fandor turned smilingly to Wulf.

"Have a cocktail, Wulf?"

The officer almost choked with delight. In Hesse-Weimar he would never have imagined that his King could be so charming and simple in private life. He made some remark to this effect and the journalist answered:

"Why not, Wulf? Hesse-Weimar and France are two different places ... we are now in a democracy, let's be democratic." Then clinking his glass with Wulf's he cried:

"To the health of the Republic!"

Fandor now led the conversation to the charms and seductions of Paris, and he pictured the delights of the city in such glowing terms that Wulf's little eyes sparkled and his purple face became even more congested. He lost his timidity. He expressed a wish to see the Moulin-Rouge and the Singing Fountains.

"What do you know about them?" inquired Fandor.

"Why, they speak of nothing else in Hesse-Weimar."

"You shall hear them then.... Look here, Wulf, are you married?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Then I'll bet you deceive your wife."

"Hum! I should be sorry if my wife heard you say that. For up to now ..."

Fandor laughed.

"Oh, we Kings know everything. Even more than your Secret Service."

"That's true," cried Wulf, "absolutely true."

"Wulf, Paris is the town of charming women. I am sure they will please you greatly. And as I have no need of your services to-morrow I will give you your liberty."

The officer was about to break into thanks when the door opened and a servant announced:

"Will your Majesty receive Monsieur Juve?"

"Show him in."

When the detective entered and heard Fandor addressed as His Majesty he opened his eyes and stood staring, while Fandor himself was obliged to stuff his handkerchief into his mouth to prevent himself from roaring with laughter.

Juve began:

"What does this mean?..."

But Fandor quickly stepped forward.

"Monsieur Juve, let me introduce you to Monsieur Wulf. Monsieur Wulf is the head of the Secret Service in my Kingdom of Hesse-Weimar."

Then tapping Wulf familiarly on the shoulder he added:

"He's one of the greatest detectives in the world. He was able to find the King of Hesse-Weimar right here in this apartment.... Though he had never seen me, he found me and recognized me!"

The officer beamed with delight at the compliment. Fandor then conducted him to the door, whispering advice as to the best way of passing his night in Paris.

* * * * *

Scarcely had the ridiculous Wulf disappeared when Juve seized Fandor by the shoulder.

"Fandor! What does this mean?"

"Why, Juve, simply that I'm the King of Hesse-Weimar—of which fact you had a proof just now."

But Juve's face was serious.

"Now, without joking, tell me what you are doing here."

When Fandor had finished his explanation Juve seized him by the hand.

"Where is the King, Fandor?"

"I have already told you. I haven't the least idea. And, furthermore, I don't care."

"You are crazy to talk this way. What is happening is extremely serious."

"Why?"

"Simply because a charge of murder has been brought against Frederick-Christian."

"Very few people know it," exclaimed the journalist.

He stopped speaking suddenly. Outside the murmur of a crowd grew louder and louder as it approached. Juve and Fandor ran to the window just in time to receive a volley of stones which broke the glass in several places. The two men sprang back.

"Put out the lights!" cried Juve.

Below them the avenue was black with people. After a moment they could distinguish what they were shouting.

"Murderer! Murderer! Down with the King!"

"That surprises you, Fandor," exclaimed Juve, "but for the last forty-eight hours I have been watching this trouble grow, and I tell you it is going to end badly."

At the head of the mob and more daring than the others appeared a strange individual. A long-bearded old man, dressed in white, was endeavoring to force his way into the hotel and a fight was taking place at the door.

"I know him," muttered Juve, "I have seen him once or twice before trying to raise a row about this affair."

"Why it's Ouaouaoua, the Primitive Man," cried Fandor.

A squad of policemen now arrived on the scene, and without much difficulty succeeded in dispersing the mob.

* * * * *

"Well, Juve."

"Well, Fandor."

"To tell you the truth, Juve," admitted the journalist, "I am beginning to get a little uneasy. However, this manifestation is against Frederick-Christian, not against me...."

Juve interrupted.

"Idiot, don't you understand what's happening? Either one of two things. You are the King, and therefore in the opinion of the public the murderer of Susy d'Orsel, or you are not the King, and in that case you are an impostor, which will make it all the more likely that you will be considered as the murderer."

"Not much," cried Fandor. "You seem to forget it was I who picked up ..."

"Who knows that?" continued Juve. "Why, my dear fellow, think for a moment, if the King is guilty, and even if he is not, he will be only too glad to throw the responsibility for this tragedy upon your shoulders.... That would let him out of it completely. The situation could not be much worse. Suppose that this evening, to-morrow, at any moment some one finds out that you are not the King, you will then not only be suspected of the murder of Susy d'Orsel, but you will be accused of having done away with the King.... Where is the King? You haven't the least idea. Then what answer could you make?"

"The devil," murmured Fandor, suddenly growing pale. "I didn't think of that. You are right, Juve, I am in a bad fix."

There was a moment of silence. The two men looked at one another, troubled and anxious. Then Fandor, struck by a sudden inspiration, seized his hat and cane.

"What are you doing?" inquired Juve.

"I ... Why I'm going to clear out."

"How?... The King's apartment is surrounded by Secret Service men.... They take good care of His Majesty.... You were forgetting that!"

"That's true," said Fandor, depressed. "So now I am actually a prisoner. Look here, Juve, what has become of this Frederick-Christian? Haven't you any clue to follow?"

"No."

"He can't have vanished into thin air. We must find him if it is humanly possible."

"That's my opinion, Fandor, but I am wondering how."

And then suddenly to each of them the same thought occurred.

Fantomas!

Was it not probable that the strange crime of which Susy d'Orsel was the victim, the mysterious disappearance of the King, might be attributed to this enigmatic and redoubtable bandit?

It would not have been the first time that the journalist and the detective had put forth a similar hypothesis.

Fantomas had always symbolized the very essence of crime itself.



CHAPTER XI

ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN STATIONS

On leaving Fandor, Juve walked up the Avenue Champs Elysees, refusing the offers of various cab drivers. He felt the need of movement as an antidote to his growing worry over the affair. On arriving at the Rue Saussaies, Juve sent up his card to M. Annion and requested an immediate interview. In a few moments he was shown into M. Annion's office.

"Well, what's new? What's the result of your investigation, Juve?"

"There is nothing much to report yet. The theory of suicide is possible, although a crime may have been committed. Whether the King is involved or not in this affair is still uncertain. It will take me a week at least to find out."

"In other words, you know nothing yet. Well, I can tell you a few things you don't know. Pass me those documents."

M. Annion looked through the papers and then continued:

"When Vicart saw you this morning he forgot to give you some of the instructions I had charged him with.... I sent two of my men to the Royal Palace Hotel.... Do you know what they found?"

"No, I haven't the least idea. There was nothing to learn at the Royal Palace itself."

"On the contrary, they made an extraordinary discovery."

"What was it?"

"They discovered that the King is not the King. The individual who is posing as Frederick-Christian II is an impostor. Rather sensational news, isn't it?"

"So sensational that I don't believe it."

"And why not, if you please?"

Juve avoided a direct reply. He asked:

"Upon what do you place this supposed imposture?"

M. Annion took up the papers before him.

"I have the evidence here before me. But first I must tell you how our suspicions became aroused.... This morning, after your departure, we received a telegram from Hesse-Weimar inquiring why Frederick-Christian did not reply to the telegram sent him from his kingdom.... That gave me an inkling of what was going on.... I sent to the Royal Palace Hotel and there my two detectives learned that Frederick-Christian had gained the reputation of being extremely odd, in fact, half crazy. Furthermore, that he was acting in a manner totally different from that of former occasions. He now scarcely moves from his room, whereas previously he spent most of his time out of doors."

M. Annion handed Juve the documents and begged him to look them over himself. After returning them Juve realized that his best chance would be to gain time.

"This is going to cause a great deal of trouble. If an impostor is really installed in the Royal Palace Hotel we shall have to notify the Chancellor and ask for the authorization to verify ... In other words, a number of tiresome formalities will have to be complied with."

"Wait a minute, I have more surprises for you. We now have the press on our trail. All the evening papers publish articles inferring the guilt of the King.... They come out boldly accusing him of murder. Would you believe that at seven o'clock this evening there was a shouting, howling mob in front of the Royal Palace? And so, my dear Juve, you had better take two men with you, and without delay go to the hotel and arrest the man who is passing for the King, and who is, besides, the murderer of Susy d'Orsel."

This is what Juve feared; he determined to make every effort to prevent the arrest of Fandor.

"All this is very well, but I think you will agree with me that it is a romance, Monsieur Annion."

"May I ask why you think that?"

"Certainly, Monsieur Annion.

"You intend to arrest the false King because he is accused by the public of murder.... If he were the real King, would you be willing to arrest him without further proof?"

"No ... naturally not ... but then he is an impostor, so that won't worry me."

"Very good, Monsieur Annion, and now, suppose you have guessed wrong? After all, you are basing your conclusion upon a number of minor details, upon the observation of hotel clerks. All that is not sufficient. But don't you think anyone in Paris knows the King by sight?"

"Only two persons knew him here.... The Ambassador of Hesse-Weimar, M. de Naarboveck, who has just been changed and whose successor has not as yet arrived. The other person is one of his friends, the Marquis de Serac, who happens to be away from Paris just now."

Juve smiled.

"You forget one man, Monsieur Annion, who knows the King better than either of these. I refer to the head of the Secret Service of Hesse-Weimar ... one of my colleagues. He is at present staying at the Royal Palace and sees the King every day. Consequently it will be scarcely possible to deceive him."

"What is his name?" asked M. Annion.

"It's rather complicated; he calls himself Wulfenmimenglaschk, which we may cut to Wulf for all practical purposes. What should you think of his testimony?"

M. Annion hesitated.

"Of course, if this individual knows the King ..."

"He is attached to the King's person."

"And you are sure he recognized him at the Royal Palace?"

"I'll bring him here and let him speak for himself."

"Well, I'll give you until eleven to-morrow morning to produce this Wulf ... or whatever he calls himself; if then he cannot positively affirm that the King is really the King, you must arrest the impostor immediately. If, on the other hand, he does recognize him, we must refer the matter to the Minister of Foreign Affairs."

"That is understood," replied Juve, and he took his leave.

As Juve found himself again in the Rue de Saussaies his face clouded over.

"Twenty-four hours gained anyway, but I wonder where the devil I can get hold of this Wulf? I might catch him at the Moulin-Rouge ... Fandor sent him there."

Juve drove to the music hall and, showing his card, questioned the officials.

"I'm looking for a fat little man, probably slightly drunk, foreign accent, wears a brown coat, tight trousers, white spats, and is plastered all over with decorations."

"I saw him," cried one of the ushers. "I checked his overcoat and noticed the decorations. He left some time ago."

"Confound it!" muttered Juve. "You don't know why he left so early? The show is only beginning."

The usher smiled.

"Well, he carried a couple of girls away with him. Probably he's in some nearby cafe."

Juve decided to spend the whole night, if necessary, to find Wulf, and began a systematic search through all the cafes of Montmartre.

At length, about three in the morning, he decided to give himself a rest and take a drink. For this purpose he entered a small cafe at the corner of the Rue de Douai and the Rue Victor-Masse, and ordered a beer. He put the usual question:

"You don't happen to have seen a fat little man, drunk and profusely decorated?"

The proprietor at once grew excited.

"I should think I have seen him. He came in here asking for some outlandish brand of cigarettes, and ended by taking the cheapest I had, then paid for them with foreign money. And when I refused to take it, he threatened me with some King or other! Aren't we still a republic, I should like to know?"

Evidently, from the description, it could be no other than the peripatetic Wulf.

"Was he alone?" asked Juve.

"Oh, he brought in a little blonde with him, but when she saw his fake money, I guess she gave him the slip, for he turned to the right and she went up the street in the opposite direction."

"The devil!" exclaimed Juve; "the trail is lost again."

A waiter stepped forward.

"I think he went to the Courcelles Station; he asked me where it was."

"The Courcelles Station!"

Juve stood staring in amazement. What on earth could Wulf want to go there for?

"Have you a telephone?" he asked.

"Yes, Monsieur."

With great difficulty Juve succeeded in getting the connection.

"Hullo! Is that your Majesty?"

Fandor's voice replied, laughingly:

"Yes, it's His Majesty all right, but His Majesty doesn't like being wakened up at night. What can I do for you, my dear Juve?"

"Can you tell me where Wulf is?"

"How should I know? Probably with some women, he seems crazy about them."

"No, he hasn't any French money."

"Hold on, Juve; I advised him to take the circular tube as the best method of seeing Paris. I told him to stay on board till he reached the end of the line. Just a little joke of mine."

Fandor burst out laughing, and Juve rang off, angrily.

Once in the street, he stood a moment in doubt as to his next course. If Wulf was really taking a trip in the circular tube, he would be in process of going round and round Paris. How was it possible to overtake him?

Hailing a taxi, he explained to the chauffeur:

"Look here, I want you to take me to the Courcelles Station ... there we must find out in what direction the first train passes, either toward Porte Maillot or toward the Avenue de Clichy ..."

The man stared stupidly and Juve found it necessary to explain in a few words the quest he was setting out upon.

"If our man isn't on the first train that passes Courcelles, then we must hurry over to the Bois de Boulogne Station, understand?"

* * * * *

Juve had the luck to learn from the ticket seller at Courcelles that she had noticed Wulf, and that he had bought a first-class ticket; this limited the search very considerably.

The first train pulled in, but Wulf was not on board.

Juve sprang into his taxi and now hurried over to the Bois de Boulogne. Here the same result met him; the next station was Auteuil, then Vaugirard, la Glaciere and Bel-Air.

It was now eight o'clock, and his appointment with M. Annion was at eleven. What was to be done?

On reaching Menilmontant Station, Juve had about decided to abandon the chase.

"I'll wait for one more train and then make some other plan," he muttered.

By great good luck he caught sight of Wulf as it ran into the station. Rushing into the carriage, he seized his man and hauled him on to the platform.

"What's the matter? Why are you here, Monsieur Juve? I am perfectly amazed ..."

"Where are you going, Monsieur Wulf?"

Wulf smiled fatuously:

"I have been following his Majesty's advice, seeing Paris. What an immense city! I counted one hundred and twenty-seven stations since five o'clock this morning and I have crossed ten rivers! Why have you stopped me? I wanted to go to the end of the line."

Juve bustled him into the waiting taxi.

"I'll explain as we go," he replied. "It is a question of saving the King. He is menaced by powerful and terrible enemies."

"I am ready to die for him," exclaimed Wulf. "What must I do?"

"Oh, it's not necessary to die. All you have to do is to certify before the police authorities that the person you know as Frederick-Christian at the Royal Palace is actually the King."

"I don't understand in the least what you mean!"

"That doesn't matter; you have only to do as I say and all will be well."

* * * * *

M. Annion was overcome.

Wulf, after testifying to the identity of the King, had been sent to wait in an adjoining room while Juve and M. Annion had a confidential chat.

"Well, Juve, I can't get over it. Without you, I should have made a terrible break! The King arrested! What a scandal! But, tell me, what's to be done now? The public's calling for the murderer. I place myself in your hands. What do you suggest?"

Juve thought a moment.

For the time being Fandor was safe, but he was still very far from being out of the woods.

"Monsieur Annion," he replied at length, "there is just one method of procedure in this case. The assassination of Susy d'Orsel, the question of this imposture, in fact all these mysterious points which have arisen cannot be cleared up in Paris."

"What the devil do you mean, Juve?"

"I mean that in all probability the threads of this intrigue lead to Hesse-Weimar, to the capital of the kingdom, to Glotzbourg. And, if you have no objection, I will start for there this evening."

"Go, go," replied M. Annion; "perhaps you are right ... anyhow, don't forget to take letters of introduction with you."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I can get all I want from my colleague."

"Your colleague?"

"Yes, from this excellent Wulf."



CHAPTER XII

CAMOUFLAGE

"Come in and sit down, Monsieur Wulfenmimenglaschk."

The Marquis de Serac led the way into his study.

He was a powerfully built, white-haired man, in the sixties, still active, with a slightly tired voice, a typical man of the world in his manners and dress.

Very embarrassed, Wulf bowed and bowed:

"I am confused, Monsieur. Quite confused ... I ..."

"Not at all, Monsieur Wulf; now take off your overcoat, sit down and smoke a cigar. I assure you it's a great pleasure for me to talk to anyone coming from Hesse-Weimar. I left the court when I was very young, and I should be a stranger in Glotzbourg to-day; still I remember my very good friends there ... but never mind that now, we have more important subjects to discuss, Monsieur Wulf, and I'm sure you are in a hurry."

"Oh, not at all; I am only too happy and too proud ..."

"Yes, yes, Paris is a city of temptations, and I won't take too much of your time. First of all let me explain that I only received your letter yesterday, as I happened to be out of town. You state that I am in a position to render you a great service; this I shall be delighted to do as soon as you tell me what it is."

Wulf began a long and rambling story to the effect that upon leaving Glotzbourg for Paris, on his special mission to the King, he had conceived the idea of writing to the Marquis de Serac, whom he knew to be an intimate friend of the King, to give him a letter of introduction to His Majesty.

"But now I don't need it," he ended, "for the King is my best friend ... he received me with charming simplicity, just like an old comrade."

"Alas, my dear Wulf, His Majesty is at present exposed to the most terrible danger."

"What do you mean?"

"You have doubtless heard of the tragic death of Mlle. Susy d'Orsel, the King's mistress, which, by a curious coincidence, occurred in this very house?"

"I know! I know!"

"Well, perhaps you also know that among the King's enemies, some dare to accuse him of having killed Mlle. Susy d'Orsel?"

"Oh! Such people ought to be cut in pieces."

"Alas, Monsieur Wulf, we are not yet in a position to avenge His Majesty. You don't happen to know who the real murderer is, do you?"

"No, I haven't the least idea; but if I ever get hold of him, I shall know what to do!"

The Marquis smiled and shrugged his shoulders:

"I shall be glad to help you."

"Thanks, Monsieur le Marquis, but I'm afraid we shan't succeed. There's a French detective on the case, a man named Juve, who hasn't been able to find the man either!"

The Marquis gave a slight start:

"Ah, and Juve has found nothing, suspects nobody?"

"No."

"That is strange.... Well, Monsieur Wulf, I think we shall be able to do better. You are ready for anything?"

"For everything, on my honor!" replied Wulf, with fervor.

"Very well, then I promise you we shall have some news within a week. But excuse me a moment, I have some orders to give; I won't be a moment."

The Marquis crossed the room and opened the door; Wulf could hear him talking:

"Is that you, Madame Ceiron?"

A woman's voice answered:

"Yes, Monsieur le Marquis. What can I do for you?"

"Kindly unpack the bag in my room and when you go out be sure to lock the doors. I don't want a recurrence of what happened the other day when some one entered my apartment and left a chemise belonging to the murderer among my laundry."

"Monsieur le Marquis may rest assured his orders will be obeyed."

In a few moments the Marquis returned and M. Wulf rose to go. He repeated with emphasis his determination:

"If ever I get the chance to arrest this murderer, I will do so in the face of any danger. All for the King! That is my motto!"

"Yes, you are right, Monsieur, all for the King."

The Marquis de Serac bowed his visitor out, and then suddenly his smiling face underwent an astounding change of expression.

"I must clinch my alibi!"

In a moment he had torn off his false whiskers and his wig of white hair was quickly replaced by another—this time a woman's wig. With the agility of a Fregoli he then got into a skirt and waist.

Forty seconds after the departure of Wulf the Marquis de Serac had become ... Madame Ceiron, the concierge.

Three or four pencil marks and his disguise was complete. It would be impossible for anybody not having seen this transformation to guess that the Marquis de Serac and old Madame Ceiron were one and the same individual.

After a quick glance into his mirror he rushed across his drawing-room, through the hall, and quickly opened a large Breton wardrobe. Through the centre of this rose a post which he seized and slid down. It was the same contrivance used by firemen to join their engines when a call was sent in. At the foot of the post in Madame Ceiron's apartment were stretched two mattresses to deaden the fall. These were placed in a small storeroom, well hidden from observation. After closing the door behind her, Madame Ceiron rushed to the hall in time to intercept Wulf on his way downstairs.

"You are looking for some one?" she asked.

"No, Madame, I have just come from the Marquis de Serac's apartment."

After Wulf had disappeared Madame Ceiron returned to her office and was about to enter when a voice called:

"Here I am, Madame Ceiron. I found your note under my door. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Ah, it's you, my child. You are very kind to have come, and there is something that you can do for me. I want to know if you will come upstairs to Susy d'Orsel's room with me."

"What on earth for?"

"Well, I'll tell you. It's this way: I am scared to go up there all alone."

Marie Pascal smiled.

"Of course it is rather appalling, but why do you go there, Madame Ceiron?"

"Well, you see, the police have put their seals over everything and I am paid one franc a day to see that nobody enters the apartment and breaks them. I have to take a look around from time to time, so won't you come with me?"

"Certainly, Madame Ceiron."

Marie Pascal and the concierge went up together and began a careful examination of the poor girl's rooms. While the young girl was looking curiously around Madame Ceiron entered the boudoir. She crossed to the chimney and pulled out a small casket, which was hidden behind a blue curtain. She opened it quickly and inspected the contents.

"Jewels! Which would be the best to take? Ah, this ring and this bracelet ... and these earrings. Now for the key. I'll take that with me."

"Mam'zelle Marie Pascal!"

"Madame Ceiron?"

"Come along, my dear. I am so frightened, it upsets me to go through this poor girl's apartment. Just run and see if the outer door is locked."

While Marie Pascal turned her back and walked toward the door, Madame Ceiron suddenly pressed against a large box which fell over and spread a fine coal dust over the carpet.

"It is locked, Madame Ceiron."

"Then come along. I hope to Heaven this business will soon be cleared up or it will make me ill."

A few moments later Marie Pascal had returned to her own bedroom and the concierge busied herself by opening in her office a parcel which she had taken from a cupboard. She was interrupted in her work by the arrival of a working woman who was engaged to take Madame Ceiron's place when she had errands to do.

"I am going to leave you alone here to-day, Madame. I have some shopping to do.... I am going to spend my New Year's gifts, buy a green dress and a hat with red feathers.... It is my turn to dress up a little."

Shortly afterwards the concierge went out, taking with her the parcel she had prepared. But instead of going to the shopping district of Paris, she hurried toward the Bois de Boulogne.

When she had reached a remote part of the wood she entered a small hut. A few moments later visitors to the Bois noticed the well-known Ouaouaoua, the Primitive Man, walking down the main pathway. The enigmatic and dreamy face of this man resembled neither the Marquis de Serac nor Madame Ceiron and yet ...

The science of camouflage pushed to its extreme limits produces the most unexpected transformations.



CHAPTER XIII

THE KINGDOM OF HESSE-WEIMAR

"Has Monsieur le Baron any trunks to be examined? This is the Hesse-Weimar Customs."

These words, spoken in a respectful but guttural voice, startled Juve from the deep sleep into which he had fallen after a very unpleasant night. The detective opened his eyes and stretched himself.

The pale light of dawn struggled through the windows of the sleeping car, the curtains of which had been carefully drawn. Outside nothing was to be seen, for besides the mud which covered the windows a heavy fog lay over the country.

The train came to a standstill, and before Juve stood an individual dressed in an elegant blue and yellow uniform plentifully covered with gold braid. Juve looked around to see the man who was being addressed by the title of Monsieur le Baron and finally came to the conclusion that it was himself to whom the man was speaking.

"Why do you call me Monsieur le Baron?" The man touched his hat deferentially and seemed very surprised at the question.

"Why, Monsieur ... it's the custom. No one but the nobility travel first class."

Juve smiled and replied:

"That's all right, my friend, but in the future call me simply, 'Marquis.'"

The official again saluted and seizing Juve's valise traced on it the cabalistic chalk mark which allowed it to pass the frontier.

* * * * *

The evening before, the detective had taken his seat in the 10.50 express from the Gare du Nord in Paris for Cologne and Berlin. He had the good luck to find that a sleeping car had been attached to the end of the train which would take him directly to Glotzbourg. At the frontier he changed into a local, which jogged peacefully along, stopping every few minutes at small stations. The country of Hesse-Weimar spread out attractive and varied. Numerous small hills crowned with woods succeeded the green valleys they passed through. The houses were Swiss in architecture and seemed built for comfort and elegance. The little Kingdom seemed to breathe peace, simplicity and well-being. On his arrival at Hesse-Weimar, Juve had not been without some apprehension. During his last interview with Monsieur Annion he had put forward the opinion that an investigation in Hesse-Weimar would do much to clear up the mystery surrounding the affair. As a matter of fact, it was more to gain time than for any other reason that Juve had suggested this. He had not mentioned to his chief that his real object in going to Glotzbourg was to try to obtain a clue as to the real or apparent disappearance of the King Frederick-Christian II.

The formal declaration of the grotesque Wulf had reassured the French authorities as to the fate of the King, but to Juve, who knew that Fandor was installed at the Royal Palace, the search for the real King was of paramount importance.

"Glotzbourg.... All out!"

The detective seized his bag, hurried out of the car, hailed a cab and drove to the Hotel Deux-Hemispheres, which had been recommended by his colleague. After engaging his room Juve asked the porter to telephone to the police to find out when Heberlauf could see him. While waiting for the reply he took a bath and changed his clothes.

* * * * *

After having washed and shaved, he was about to go down to the lobby of the Hotel when a knock came at the door.

"Come in!" he cried.

A very tall and thin individual with a parchment-like face entered and bowed ceremoniously.

"To whom have I the honor...?" Juve inquired.

"I am Monsieur Heberlauf, head of the police at Hesse-Weimar.... Have I the pleasure of speaking to Monsieur Juve?"

Juve, surprised at the visit, excused the disorder of the room and tried to make his guest comfortable.

"Monsieur Wulf advised me of your intended visit to our Capital."

In a very few moments Juve was able to size up his man, who seemed only too anxious to impart information about himself and his affairs. While quite as simple-minded as Wulf, he appeared far more sinister. Juve also divined without much difficulty that his wife, Madame Heloise Heberlauf, was the best informed woman in the kingdom regarding gossip and scandal.

"In fact," declared the chief of police, "I can be of very little assistance to you, Monsieur. But my wife can give you all the information you need."

Juve made it clear to Monsieur Heberlauf that he wished to obtain an entry to the Court as soon as possible.

Monsieur Heberlauf replied that nothing would be easier than a presentation to the Queen. It happened that she was receiving in the afternoon, and Madame Heberlauf would take the necessary steps for his introduction. He ended by saying:

"Do come and lunch with us without ceremony. You will have plenty of time afterward to dress for the reception.... Have you a Court costume?"

Juve had overlooked that item.

"No, I haven't," he replied. "Is it indispensable?"

"It is, but don't worry, Madame Heberlauf will take charge of that. She will be able to find you the necessary garments." The luncheon engagement made for twelve o'clock sharp, the Chief of Police, now more solemn than ever, rose and took his leave.

* * * * *

"Well, Monsieur Juve, don't you think that looks fine?"

Juve was anxiously regarding himself in the glass, examining the effect of his costume, while Madame Heberlauf, a fat little red-faced woman, was circling around, eyeing him from every angle and clapping her hands with pleasure at the success of her efforts.

The lunch had been bountiful, and thoroughly German. Preserved fruit was served with the fish, and gooseberry jam with the roast. Juve was now costumed in knee breeches and a dress coat which permitted him to enter the presence of royalty.

"Don't be late," Madame Heberlauf advised, "for the Queen is very punctual, and there are a number of formalities to go through before you can be presented to her."

The Palace of the King was on the outskirts of the town, and was reached by a drive through a Park which the inhabitants had named Pois de Pulugne. It was built upon the top of a hill and had a fine view over the surrounding country. The garden surrounding the Palace had been artistically laid out, a fine lawn stretching away from the main entrance. The building itself was a miniature copy of Versailles. Having left his carriage at the gate Juve followed Madame Heberlauf's instructions and made his way to the left wing of the Palace. Upon his card of introduction was written the title "Comte," for, as Madame Heberlauf had explained, the Queen had a penchant for meeting members of the nobility. "Your welcome will be made much easier if you are thought to be noble," Madame Heberlauf had explained. As it was imperative that the reason for Juve's visit should be kept from the Court, he had arranged a little story with Madame Heberlauf.

The Comte Juve was a Canadian explorer who, after a trip through Africa, was coming to spend some time at Glotzbourg and was anxious to meet the reigning family.

"God forgive us the lie," exclaimed Monsieur Heberlauf, "but as Monsieur Juve's mission is in the interest of the King Frederick-Christian, we are thoroughly justified in the deception."

* * * * *

The Queen's chamberlain, Monsieur Erick von Kampfen, after carefully examining Juve's credentials, led the detective into a drawing-room in which were already gathered a number of persons. An officer, in a wonderful uniform, came forward and introduced him to several of his companions.

* * * * *

"Princesse de Krauss, duc de Rutisheimer, colonel ..."

Juve was not surprised at this. The excellent Madame Heberlauf had warned him that such was the usage of the Court, and that before being admitted to the presence of the sovereign, the guests were introduced to one another. Juve was on his guard against committing the slightest imprudence, but his new friends were quickly at ease with him and very amiable in their attentions. He was soon surrounded by a number of young women begging for details of his explorations. Among these people Juve picked out the Princesse de Krauss, a stout woman with exaggerated blonde hair and red spots on her face, barely disguised under a thick layer of powder. She seemed to be ready for a more personal conversation which Juve insensibly brought to bear upon the royal couple.

"Will His Majesty the King be present at the Queen's reception to-day?"

The Princess looked at Juve in amazement, and then burst out laughing.

"It is easy to see you have just arrived from the middle of Africa, or you would know that His Majesty the King is in Paris.... Surely you must know that, since you tell me that you came through Paris on your way here."

The Duchess de Rutisheimer, a rather pretty and distinguished looking woman, drew the detective apart and whispered behind her fan:

"Our King is a gay bird, Count, and we know very well why he goes to Paris."

The Duchess spoke with such an air of annoyance that Juve could hardly prevent a smile.

"One might criticise His Majesty for going so far away to seek what was so close to hand."

"Ah, indeed, you are right," the Princess sighed, "there must be something about these Parisian women. ... I heard that the dressmakers of the Rue de la Paix are going to bring out some Spring models which are so indecent ..."

M. Erick von Kampfen, the chamberlain, entered the room at this moment and announced:

"Ladies and gentlemen, kindly pass into the gallery. Her Majesty the Queen will be ready to receive you in a moment."

Behind him came the little Duc Rudolphe, who was informing some of his friends as though it were a fine piece of scandal:

"The Grand Duchess Alexandra hasn't come yet ... and they are wondering if she will come."



CHAPTER XIV

QUEEN HEDWIGE RECEIVES

Obedient to the Grand Chamberlain's invitation, the assembled guests passed into the great gallery at the end of which an immense salon was seen, still empty; it was the room in which the Queen held her drawing-room.

It was sparsely furnished; a large gilded armchair, which was really a throne, stood at the farther end between two windows; the floor was waxed until it shone, and the surface was so slippery that Juve felt some fear of mishaps.

First came the guard with a clatter of sabres, then two heralds, and finally Her Majesty Hedwige, Queen of Hesse-Weimar, who proceeded to the throne and sat down.

She was a little body with a pinched and nervous expression of face. She trotted along like an old woman, her shoulders hunched up, and distributed nods right and left in response to the profound bows of her courtiers.

This was not in the least as Juve had pictured her. He had seen her a dozen years previously, when she was a young girl engaged to Frederick-Christian; she had then appeared charming, and majestic in bearing. Now she looked like a woman of the middle class, bourgeois from head to heels.

Near the throne stood two officers in gala uniform, while the guard formed a circle round the throne.

The audience began.

The first Chamberlain called out a name, and a matron, after making the three traditional courtseys, came forward and chatted in a low voice with the Queen. Juve was observing the ceremony with interest, when his reflections were cut short by a voice calling:

"Monsieur le Comte de Juff!"

The detective, slightly intimidated, advanced toward the sovereign, while the grand Chamberlain leaned over and whispered his name and rank to the Queen.

"Monsieur le Comte de Juff," said the Queen in a little tinkling voice, "I am very happy to meet you. I congratulate you upon your travels. I am especially interested in the natives of Africa. We had a negro village here a few years ago ... hadn't we, M. von Kampfen?"

"Quite true, your Majesty," replied the Chamberlain, bowing deeply. The Queen turned again to Juve:

"I congratulate you, Monsieur, and I beg you to persevere in the work to which your special aptitude calls you."

The interview was at an end, and Juve was left wondering whether he should leave the room. The Chamberlain signed to him to retire behind the throne, where he found the amiable Mme. Heberlauf.

Juve, now standing quite close to the Queen, was enabled to overhear the next interview; with an old professor this time—Professor Muller. The Queen said:

"I am very happy to meet you. I congratulate you upon your pupils. I am especially interested in scholars."

Then turning to the Chamberlain:

"We have some very excellent schools here, have we not, Monsieur Kampfen?"

"Quite true, your Majesty."

"I congratulate you. Can I beg you to persevere in the work to which your special aptitude calls you?"

It was all Juve could do to keep from bursting into laughter.

The same speech was being made to a couple of young girls who were making their debut at the Court, when the circle round the Queen noticed that she was growing uneasy and preoccupied. Finally she turned to her first maid of honor, and cried in a sharp tone:

"Really, Madame, it is extraordinary that the electric lights should have been turned on while it is still daylight!... Kindly see that they are extinguished."

The first maid of honor, very embarrassed, passed along the order to the second maid of honor, who in turn hunted up the lady of the household, who relaid the message to the captain of the guard, and while he went in search of the proper subordinate, the attention of the Court was distracted by the entrance of an individual to whom everybody paid the greatest deference.

The Chamberlain announced:

"His Highness, Prince Gudulfin!"

The Prince was a distinguished looking young man of twenty-five, clean-shaven and dressed with extreme care and richness of attire.

He presented a great contrast to his cousin, the Queen of Hesse-Weimar, and as he approached the throne, his head high and a sarcastic smile on his lips, Hedwige seemed to shrink into her armchair, unable to meet the look in his eyes.

The suppressed hatred of the reigning dynasty for the younger branch was of ancient date and a matter of common knowledge. The recent and prolonged absence of Frederick-Christian had given Prince Gudulfin the opportunity by which he had profited to advance his claims and conspire for the overthrow of the Government, with himself as the King of Hesse-Weimar.

Therefore his presence was regarded as a great piece of audacity, and every eye was watching how the Prince would be received. The question in every mind was whether the Grand Duchess Alexandra, a woman of majestic presence and great beauty, would also appear. Prince Gudulfin had been paying her conspicuous attentions, and it was rumored that the Duchess dreamed of a nobler crown than the one her rank gave her title to bear.

The appearance of the two at the Queen's reception! What a scandal! But with the presence of the Prince came definite word that the Duchess had excused herself on the ground of a severe headache, a pretext which deceived nobody.

Prince Gudulfin, after observing the correct formalities, stood before the Queen waiting for the invitation to sit by her side.

Hedwige, still preoccupied by the electric lights, seemed to have forgotten him, and the situation was fast becoming embarrassing for the Prince, who could neither go nor stay. It was not long, however, before he saw what was troubling the Queen, and stepping aside he turned off the lights.

"There is no such thing as unnecessary economy, is there, cousin?" he murmured with a smile.

Hedwige blushed and gave him a furious look. She then proffered the tardy invitation to sit by her side. As the audience came to a close, the Queen in a loud voice announced:

"I wish to inform you that I have received news of the King. His Majesty is well and is in Paris. He will return very soon."

The Queen's guard now led the way back to the private apartments, followed by the maids of honor, and then the Queen herself hurried off as though glad to be finished with the whole affair.

Juve, an attentive listener to the numberless intrigues on foot on every side, divined the comedies and tragedies which underlay this little Court, more gossipy and vulgar than a servant's parlor. Especially he noted the frequent and bitter allusions to the perpetual trips of the King to Paris. These cost the royal treasury a pretty penny, and for the twentieth time Juve heard references to a certain red diamond belonging to Frederick-Christian. He had known for a long time that such a diamond was numbered among the crown jewels, and that it was supposed to represent a value of several millions, but he had imagined it was kept in a place of safety. Now he learned that the King was suspected of having pawned it to raise money. With his most innocent air, he questioned one of the officers.

"I should think it a very simple matter to find out whether the King took the diamond with him. It must surely be in the keeping of loyal and tried officials."

The officer smiled:

"My dear Count, it is easily seen that you come from the depths of Africa. Otherwise you would know that the diamond is hidden in the private apartments of the King—nobody knows where, not even the Queen. You may easily divine the uneasiness of the people and the advantage the affair gives to Prince Gudulfin."

Juve now felt that the King was still in Paris. The problem thus far had become clearer. But under what conditions was he living? It was quite possible that he had been kidnapped by some person who knew of the diamond's existence.

While pondering these matters, Juve had unconsciously wandered away from the salon and now found himself in the ante-room on the ground floor. Here he came face to face with Mme. Heberlauf, who was accompanied by a white-haired old man whom she at once introduced.

"Count de Juff, let me present the Dean of the Court, the Burgomaster of Rung Cassel ..."

"The deuce!" thought Juve, "a bore, by the look of him!"

Escape was hopeless, the Burgomaster seized the detective by the arm and announced:

"I am the author of a work in 25 volumes on "The History of the Dark Continent." Now I hear that you have just returned from a journey of exploration in Africa and ..."

The old historian dragged Juve into the Palace gardens and the latter thought:

"Hang it, I couldn't have pitched on a worse introduction, I don't know the first thing about Africa."

But the author of the 25 volumes quickly set him at ease. For he began by admitting that he himself had never set foot out of Glotzbourg.

Under these circumstances Juve recovered his nerve and glibly discussed the peculiarities of the African fauna.

* * * * *

An hour later the two men were still talking, but this time it was Juve who was anxious to keep the conversation going. The good Burgomaster had drifted into gossip about the affairs of the Kingdom; suddenly he turned to the detective with a question:

"Do you believe in this story about a visit to Paris?"

Juve hesitated and then made an ambiguous reply.

The Burgomaster continued:

"Personally, I don't. You see, my windows look toward the large octagonal wing in which are the apartments of the King. Now, for the past week I have noticed strange lights moving about in these supposedly empty rooms, and I have a notion that our dear King Frederick-Christian is very far from being in Paris. In fact, I think he is held a prisoner in his own Palace!

"Ah, Monsieur, you cannot imagine the intrigues which are being hatched against that noble heart; the black wickedness of the soul of Prince Gudulfin, hidden under the exterior of his seductive person!"

Juve was impressed. He was inclined to give some credence to the suppositions of the Burgomaster. For, after all, his search in Paris for the King had been without result and he had had the presentiment that his trip to Hesse-Weimar would throw some light upon the strange disappearance of the monarch.

So, while the old man was talking, Juve carefully noted in his mind the minutest architectural details of the octagonal tower which stood out clearly against the sky.



CHAPTER XV

THE MYSTERIOUS PRISON

"Good Lord! How my head aches! It feels as though it were made of lead!... I have a fire in my veins and such a thirst! Here and now I make a firm resolution never to give way again to such dissipation. Never again will I drink champagne in such quantities. But, where the deuce am I?... It's still pitch dark!... Ah, I remember ... it's outrageous! Help! Help!"

King Frederick-Christian had wakened. At first he experienced the usual unpleasant sensations which follow a night of heavy drinking and then, as his memory returned, he was afraid, horribly afraid.

He recalled his arrival at Susy d'Orsel's apartment in company with the young companion he had picked up at Raxim's and the subsequent supper, and then he broke into a cold sweat as his mind flashed to the picture of Fandor's return with the inanimate body of his mistress in his arms—dead. Yes, she was undoubtedly dead!

And afterwards, what had happened?

His companion had declared himself to be the journalist, Jerome Fandor, and had called him by name—Frederick-Christian. Furthermore, he had cried:

"It was you who killed Susy d'Orsel. It was you who threw her out of the window!"

What had happened after that? His mind was a complete blank.

Had these events occurred recently, or a long time ago? His headache and thirst were proof that they could not have been far distant.

"Where am I? Evidently not at the Royal Palace!"

When he first wakened he was lying flat on his back; now he sat up and groped about with his hands. The ground beneath him was cold and hard ... a floor of earth. So they had put him in a vault? in a cellar?

The air he breathed was heavy and warm, and the walls of his cell felt damp to the touch. Could he be in prison? That was hardly possible, in such a short time. Besides, he was innocent! As he sat listening, he detected a faint and faraway rumbling sound. It seemed to come from above his head.

As his senses became more fully aroused, an indefinable terror struck to his heart. At all costs he must take some action. He rose suddenly to his feet but before he reached his full height his head struck the roof. The blow was so violent that he fell back again in a fainting condition.

It was not until many hours afterward that he regained his senses sufficiently to make another attempt. This time he proceeded with more caution.

"I am the victim of some gang," he thought. "This Jerome Fandor is probably the leader of a band of cutthroats who, after killing Susy d'Orsel, took advantage of my intoxication to make me unconscious with some narcotic, and then dragged me to the place I am now in."

The King now began to explore the place on his hands and knees, his ears keenly alive to the slightest sound. He crawled around trying to discover the extent and nature of his prison.

The floor appeared to be of hard earth with occasional stretches of cement. The walls were smooth, but whether of stone or metal he could not determine. The height of the ceiling at the point where he lay was not over three feet, but gradually rose, vault-like, until he was able to stand fully upright. Was he buried alive in some kind of tomb? The idea terrified him and he began to shout for help. After many fruitless efforts and completely exhausted, he dropped to the ground overcome with the horror of his situation.

The distant rumbling sound now became louder from time to time, and at moments shook the walls of his prison, then died away to a faint murmur.

Frederick-Christian now tried to collect his thoughts upon the situation and bring some sort of order to his mind.

Susy d'Orsel was dead ...

The King had felt no deep love for the girl. Still, he had been fond of her in a way and her sudden death affected him deeply.

He himself was a prisoner. But a prisoner of whom? Evidently of those who had killed his mistress. Again, in all probability, they did not contemplate killing him since they had had the opportunity to do so and he was still alive and unharmed. This being so, they would not let him die of hunger and thirst.

His watch had stopped and he had no way of measuring the lapse of time; but his attention was called to the fact that the rumbling noises were happening at greater intervals.

"The pulse-beats of a man are separated by intervals of a second," he thought, "and by counting my pulse I can determine the interval between the rumbling, and thus gain some idea of the passing hours."

He was about to put this plan into practice when a sudden cry escaped him:

"Good God!"

In the blackness of his cell a thin shaft of light appeared.

The King sprang toward it, but found the light too feeble for him to distinguish surrounding objects by. It entered the cell through a small fissure in one of the walls, and after a few minutes was suddenly withdrawn. Frederick-Christian stumbled forward in the darkness and, after taking a few steps, his feet struck some object lying on the ground. Stooping down, he groped with his hands until they touched something that drew from him an exclamation of joy ... he had found a pile of bottles. He seized one and opened it with a corkscrew which lay near by.

One draught and he realized that the bottle contained wine. Thereupon he opened several more but with the same result. To drink them would only increase his thirst. He had the strength to resist the temptation. Again he moved forward and this time ran into a large box. His hand touched something cold. It was meat of some kind. After smelling and tasting it he flung it from him. It was a salt ham.

Hours passed while Frederick-Christian suffered the tortures of hunger and thirst. Cold and tired out, he finally lay down on the ground, writhing with violent pains in his stomach. At length he could stand it no longer, and dragging himself to the box, he seized the ham and began to devour it ravenously. This brought on a maddening thirst, which he tried to quench by long draughts of the wine. Then he became very drunk and so, laughing and crying, he drank until he lost consciousness once more.

* * * * *

"Sire! Can you hear me?"

A sharp voice broke the silence. It seemed to come from a distance.

"Sire, can you hear me?... Answer!"

Frederick-Christian sprang up.

"Who is speaking? Who are you? Help! Help!"

The voice, mocking and authoritative, answered:

"Now, then, keep quiet. I am not within reach, so it is useless to cry for help."

"Scoundrel!" cried the King.

"There's no use in behaving like a child ... you won't gain anything by it."

"Pity, pity!... I will make you rich ... I will give you anything you ask, only set me at liberty ... take me out of this prison or I shall become mad."

"Have you done with your lamentations?"

"I'll be revenged!"

"I am beyond your vengeance, Sire, and you would do well to talk quietly with me."

"You killed my mistress, Susy d'Orsel!"

"Yes, I killed her."

"You are Fandor—Jerome Fandor!"

"What you say is absurd."

"And my Kingdom? The Queen, my wife? What is happening?"

"I didn't come here to discuss politics with you. You must be reasonable."

"What do you want with me? Why was I brought here?"

"Ah, now we can discuss the matter together. You ask me what I want. First of all, let me reassure you. I do not intend to kill you. Your death would not be of the slightest use to me. Otherwise I shouldn't hesitate an instant."

"I'm not afraid of death."

"I know that, Sire ... you are brave.... I want your diamond."

"My diamond!"

"Exactly. I am quite aware, Frederick-Christian, that your personal fortune is represented by a diamond of marvelous purity and size. I also know that it is hidden in your Palace. You, alone, know where. I want you to disclose its hiding place to me so that I may go and get it."

"Never! I'm not a coward!"

"You are stupid, Sire. I repeat, once in possession of the diamond, I will set you at liberty."

"Lies!"

"Sire, consider a moment. It would be practically impossible for me to realize anything like the value of the diamond. To sell it I should be obliged to break it into small pieces, and in that case it would scarcely fetch more than twenty millions. Now, I have a better suggestion to offer."

"What is it?"

"You are to give me directions how to find it. Once in my possession, you are free. You will then draw the sum of fifty millions from your bank. As King that will be quite possible. This money you will turn over to me in exchange for your diamond. And don't think you will be able to catch me. I shall take care that the exchange is made without witnesses, and in such a way that I run no risk of arrest. Now, what do you say to my proposition?"

"I refuse."

"Very well, then in two hours you will be dead. I pledge my word for it.... And my word has some value. Perhaps you guess who I am."

"Who? Who?"

"I am Fantomas, Sire."

At this name of horror and crime, Frederick-Christian was seized with the utmost terror. In a broken voice he replied:

"I accept."

And then in trembling, disjointed sentences, he gave up the secret of the hiding place in his Palace at Glotzbourg.



CHAPTER XVI

THE THEFT OF THE DIAMOND

Queen Hedwige had had a serious and legitimate reason for bringing her reception to an abrupt conclusion. A Court ball for the high functionaries and dignities of the Kingdom was to take place that evening.

Furthermore, the Queen was very much exercised over the rumor that the Grand Duchess Alexandra was to be present. This woman, still young and very beautiful, played an important role in the small world of the Palace. It was said by the gossips that she accepted the attentions of Prince Gudulfin, in the hope that some day she might share the throne of Hesse-Weimar with him. For many years she had been a great traveler but in recent times she had spent more and more of her time in Glotzbourg, where she continually met the Prince.

* * * * *

While Juve had experienced no difficulty in being present at the Queen's audience, he found that even Mme. Heberlauf's influence was not sufficient to procure him an invitation to the ball. As a matter of fact, he had no particular wish to appear in the quality of a guest that evening. He had other plans.

* * * * *

At ten o'clock a long line of carriages and automobiles began to arrive in the gardens of the Palace. Innumerable electric lights shone out along the drive-way and from the windows. A few persons had managed to slip past the guards and had stationed themselves near the awning at the main entrance to watch the arrival of the guests. Beneath their fur cloaks, the women wore their very finest gowns and their richest jewelry.

The hall of the chancellory had been transformed into a cloakroom and there the crowd was thickest. In contrast to the brilliantly illuminated left wing of the chateau, the octagonal tower showed dark and silent. Hiding behind pillars, keeping close to the walls, a man was making his way slowly toward that tower.

The man was Juve.

From behind a big tree he stood and watched the sky, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.

"This is a night after my own heart," he murmured, "overcast and dark. I should have been very embarrassed had the moon come out."

He felt his pockets.

"Everything I need. My electric lamp and a good, strong, silk ladder."

Then, surveying the tower, he soliloquized:

"A fine monument! Solid and strong. They don't build them like that nowadays."

Juve took a few steps, bent his knees and stretched his arms, tested the suppleness of his body.

"Ah, in spite of my forty-odd years, I'm still pretty fit for ... the work I have to do."

* * * * *

By the aid of the lightning rod, the gutters and the inequalities in the stones, the detective was enabled to climb without much difficulty to the first floor.

There he paused to take breath and to examine the shutters of a window.

"Can't get in that way," he muttered, "they're bolted inside. I'll have to climb higher."

The same condition met him on the second floor, but when he had finally reached the roof, he espied a large chimney which promised a method of ingress to the apartment below. The descent was anything but easy, and Juve, in spite of his great strength and agility, was used up by the time he had reached the bottom. His clothes were torn and he was covered with the greasy soot he had accumulated on his journey. By dint of brushing and scraping, he succeeded in cleaning off the worst of it, and then looked round to take his bearings.

He had landed in the large waiting-room which adjoined the royal apartments.

The distant sound of dance music came to his ears and the atmosphere of the place was cold and damp.

"He doesn't often come here, I'll bet," thought Juve.

A door led him directly into the King's bathroom, and Juve paused to admire the famous bath of solid silver which the municipality had presented to the King upon one of his birthdays.

"I've a good mind to take a tub," he muttered. "Maybe I shall find His Majesty locked in his bedroom, and I'm hardly a fit sight to appear before him."

The detective now felt some cause for anxiety.

There were two alternatives to consider. Either the King was absent, and in that case Juve's business would be to discover the hiding place of the diamond and clear up the question whether the King had taken it with him, or, if he had been sequestered, to discover his prison.

Clutching the butt of his Browning revolver in his pocket, the detective opened the door to the King's bedroom and entered.

A thick carpet deadened the sound of his footsteps. After listening for a few moments he relit his pocket lamp and flashed it round the room.

In the centre stood an immense bed of oak designed in Renaissance style, the posts of which reached to the ceiling. Three steps led up to it. Juve noticed that it had not been disturbed. The sheets and pillows were all in order. There was nothing, however, to indicate that the King had been absent for any length of time.

Upon one point he was certain: The King was not concealed anywhere about the room, and the more he thought of the Burgomaster's suspicion, the less he thought it plausible. But if the King had not been sequestered, it was quite possible that he might be purposely hiding after his unfortunate adventure of the Rue de Monceau. Therefore, Juve decided to pursue his search through the other rooms.

But first he began mechanically to tap the wood-work, looking behind the pictures for the hiding place of the famous diamond. In his time he had seen so many secret drawers, double-seated chairs, and numerous contrivances of a similar sort, that it would be a cunning hand that could baffle his perspicacity and experience.

He had just examined a chair when suddenly he stopped in his work and waited, listening. The sound of footsteps some distance off struck his ear. Without a moment's hesitation he put out his light and darted behind the curtains. It was a good position to take up for he could see without being seen.

The footsteps drew near, the door opened and a light from an electric lantern similar to the one Juve had used, was thrown into the room.

The individual advanced to the bed, all unaware of Juve's presence. Stooping down, he began feeling the foot of one of the bedposts, which at this point formed a bulge. In an instant the wood parted and disclosed a hollow in which lay a jewel case. The jewel case contained the famous red diamond.

Juve's heart began to thump as he watched the man open the case and take out the diamond. Its facets reflected the light, multiplying the gleams and bringing into relief the features of the robber.

Then it was that the detective uttered a great cry, a cry of agony, of anger and of triumph. The man was wrapped in a great cloak, his face hidden by a black mask, but there was no mistaking his identity. It was Fantomas.

Juve's cry called forth another, ferocious and menacing, and then in a moment the room was plunged into darkness and the two men sprang at one another. Two revolver shots rang out. The dancers heard them in the ballroom and stopped dancing. The musicians heard them and ceased playing.

At once a stampede ensued.

Two officers of the guard rushed to the door leading to the King's apartments, and flung it wide open. One of them turned on the electric light and, followed by the frightened guests, entered the King's bedchamber.

At the foot of the bed, struggling in a long cloak, a man with his hands over his face lay moaning. By his side was a smoking revolver, and on the ground the empty jewel case.

"Arrest him!" somebody cried.

In a moment a number of hands had seized and bound him. It was noticed that his eyelids were fearfully swollen and the eyes bloodshot.

* * * * *

What had happened!

The struggle between Juve and the monster had scarcely lasted a second.

The detective had fired point blank at the black mask and as his finger pressed the trigger he had felt the whistle of a bullet past his ear.

Then a door had opened slightly, letting in a thin shaft of light. To his amazement, Fantomas no longer stood before him, but an officer in the uniform of the Queen's lancers.

Juve was not taken in by this quick change, and was on the point of firing again when suddenly his eyes were filled with a blinding powder, burning and blistering the pupils. He had been blinded by pepper. Instinctively he put his hands to his face, and in that moment he felt himself enveloped in the long cloak in which Fantomas had entangled him. Falling to the ground in agony he then heard the cry:

"Help! Help!"

By the sudden and growing noise, he realized that the crowd was drawing near. When he had struggled to a sitting posture, he found himself a prisoner.

The sudden change from darkness to bright light increased the pain in his eyes, but with a superhuman effort he was enabled to pick out the superb uniform of the false lancer. Pointing to him, he cried:

"Arrest him, why don't you arrest him!"

Brutally, he was told to keep quiet.

The noise of the theft spread rapidly and the greatest confusion reigned in the Palace. Many of the women fainted. Finally M. Heberlauf arrived. He appeared immensely important, and confided to a group his opinion of the affair, adding this restriction:

"At any rate, that is what my wife believes."

Mme. Heberlauf had, in fact, after an interview with one of the officers, announced it as her opinion that the thief so providentially arrested was no other than the world-famous and unseizable Fantomas.

And then a queer thing happened. When the Grand Duchess Alexandra heard this sinister name spoken, when she knew that Fantomas had been arrested, she staggered as though struck to the heart and fell fainting into the arms of her friends.

"Fantomas!" she murmured, "Fantomas arrested! Can it be possible?"

Juve was taken away tightly bound. He seemed indifferent to the clamor of the crowd and constantly looked from side to side as though searching for something or somebody. Suddenly, as he passed the group surrounding the Grand Duchess Alexandra, he made a violent effort and dragged his captors close enough to enable him to see the fainting woman's features. One look was enough, and then without further resistance he allowed himself to be marched away. He had found out what he wanted to know; he had recognized in the Grand Duchess the mistress of Fantomas, the accomplice of his most dreadful crimes. He had seen Lady Beltham!



CHAPTER XVII

ON THE RIGHT TRAIL

"The Bureau of Public Highways, if you please?"

"What is it you wish to inquire about?"

"I want some information as to the probable duration of certain repair works."

"Ah, then go to the fourth floor, number 54, door to the right at the end of the passage."

"Thanks."

With a slight nod, the visitor entered the huge building on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, which houses the offices of Public Works. He was a young man, dressed in a long black overcoat, a derby hat, which he wore well down over his eyes, and a wide bandage that covered one eye and part of the cheek.

After climbing the four flights indicated, he discovered that he had evidently taken the wrong staircase. There was nothing to do then but to go back to the porter's lodge and get more explicit instructions. But after taking a few steps, he hesitated.

"Fandor, old chap," he soliloquized, "what's the use of showing yourself and taking the risk of being recognized as the erstwhile King of Hesse-Weimar?"

For the individual who was in search of the Bureau of Public Works was no other than the journalist. An hour previously he had succeeded by clever strategy in getting rid of the excellent Wulf, who was at all times very loath to let the King out of his sight. Then, rushing to his own apartment, he had changed his clothes and partly covered his face with the bandage to conceal his features.

After several futile attempts, aided by innumerable directions from passing employes, he at length reached the office of which he was in search. There he encountered a clerk who viewed him with a suspicious eye.

"What do you want, Monsieur?"

"I want some information."

"We don't give information here."

"Really!... Why not?"

"Are you a contractor?"

"No."

"You wish to lodge a complaint?"

"No."

"Then what is your business?"

"Just to get some information as to the probable duration of certain works."

"You are not a reporter?"

"I am not a reporter. I am an advertising agent."

"Ah, that's different. The office you are looking for is number 43, the door opposite ... but there's nobody in now. However, you can wait."

Fandor crossed and entered room 43, where, after a moment, he discovered an occupant tucked away behind an enormous pile of books and manuscripts. This clerk was absorbed in a yellow-covered novel and greeted Fandor with evident ill-humor.

"What d'you want?"

"I would like to know, Monsieur, the probable duration of the repair work in operation at the Place de la Concorde."

"And why do you want to know that?"

"I am an advertising agent, and I may have a proposition to offer to the city."

"And at what point is this work in operation?"

"At the corner of the wall of the Orangery and the Quay."

After consulting a large register, the clerk turned to Fandor, shutting the book with a bang.

"Nothing is being done there. You are mistaken."

"But I've just come from there. There is a ditch and a palisade."

"No, no, no such thing. In every quarter of Paris the police are obliged to notify me of any public works in operation, and an entry is made in my register to that effect. Now, I have no record of the repairs you speak of, consequently they don't exist."

Fandor left the office, hailed a cab and ordered the driver to take him to the National Library.

"Hang it," he muttered, "I saw the ditch and the palisade myself! Now, if they are not the work of the city, it will be interesting to find out what is going on there.... Ah! suppose this idiot Wulf was not deceived! Suppose he really heard the Singing Fountains the other evening giving the last bars of the national hymn of Hesse-Weimar!"

Arrived at the National Library, Fandor began a long and minute search through volumes on architecture, on statuary and a multitude of guide books to Paris! He was so engrossed in his work that when four o'clock struck he sprang up suddenly.

"Good heavens! I've scarcely time to get back to my apartment, change into my kingly clothes and meet Wulf, to become once more His Majesty Frederick-Christian!"

* * * * *

In his apartment in his own house, the extraordinary Marquis de Serac, who was also the common Mme. Ceiron, was whispering to a person hidden behind the curtains.

"You understand, don't move and listen with all your ears, and promise me not to interfere until I give you permission!"

"I promise. Monsieur le Marquis," replied the individual in a low tone.

"All right, then I'll have her in."

The Marquis crossed the room and opened a door.

"Come in, Mademoiselle, and forgive me for keeping you waiting. I had visitors."

"Oh, Monsieur," replied Marie Pascal, for it was the young seamstress, "don't mention it ... and let me thank you for your recommendation to the King. I got two big orders from it."

"Oh, I was very glad to be of service to you with Frederick-Christian.... I regret only one thing, Mademoiselle, and that is the unhappy events which have clouded His Majesty's visit to Paris."

"Yes, indeed," replied Marie Pascal, "and in such a tragic way, too!"

"A tragic way, Mademoiselle? I imagine this has quite upset you."

"Yes."

The Marquis emphasized his words.

"So I thought, so I thought ... especially you."

The young girl lifted her pure blue eyes in surprise.

"The King spoke to me of you at great length," the Marquis added.

A quick blush overspread her face.

"Really.... The King spoke of me?"

"His Majesty told me you were charming. He noticed you the very first time you went to see him."

"At the Royal Palace?... But he only got a glimpse of me through the open door."

The Marquis smiled.

"Oh, it doesn't take long for a King ... or a young man to sometimes dream of the impossible."

"Impossible ... yes, you are right."

Marie Pascal pronounced the last words in a serious voice. She was making an evident effort to keep calm. The Marquis, on the other hand, seemed inclined to joke.

"Impossible, why?... One never knows ... the will of the King knows no obstacle." Then brusquely turning, he asked:

"You like the King, Mademoiselle?"

"Why ... why ..."

"Therefore, I'm wondering if the death of this unfortunate Susy is not really a benefit."

"Oh, Monsieur!"

"Well, you know, Mademoiselle Marie, the happiness of one person is made of the tears of another. You would have suffered. You would have been jealous."

As though against her will, Marie Pascal repeated in a low voice:

"Yes, I should have been jealous."

"Terribly jealous, for Susy d'Orsel was pretty. Besides, a liaison with her wasn't taken seriously by the King ... while with you it would have been quite different ... why, I believe you would have reached the point of wishing her death."

"No! no!" protested Marie feebly, "the King would have made his choice ... frankly and loyally...."

"And suppose he hadn't chosen? Suppose he had hesitated before the possible scandal of a rupture? Don't you care enough for him to realize that the very idea of sharing him with another would have been intolerable?... What I am saying sounds brutal, I know, but I am frank with you.... Believe me, you would have been driven to hate the unfortunate Susy."

"To hate her? Yes, ... perhaps ... for I should have been jealous!"

And then suddenly Marie realized what her words meant: that she had betrayed her cherished secret ... her love. In a moment she burst into sobs and collapsed on the sofa.

The Marquis de Serac very gently tried to reassure her.

"Don't cry, my poor child. After all, you are lamenting imaginary misfortunes which I have so imprudently imagined.... They don't exist, and never could exist, for it is a fact that Susy d'Orsel is no longer a rival to be feared. Think rather of the future which smiles upon you. You love and you have some reason to hope that you are loved in return, so dry your eyes ... fate has withdrawn the one obstacle which existed between you and the King."

Tremblingly, Marie Pascal rose.

"Forgive me, Monsieur, for this stupid scene. I lost my self ... control.... I confessed a feeling which I should have kept a secret.... I'm so confused I no longer know what I'm saying ... so please let me go."

The Marquis, with exquisite politeness, opened the door for her.

"Promise to come and see me again, Mademoiselle; before long I shall probably have something further of interest to say to you."

When the door had closed upon Marie Pascal, the Marquis drew aside the portieres.

"Come out, my dear fellow.... We shall be alone now!"

Wulf appeared. A Wulf literally armed to the teeth, and ready for any emergency.

"Put up your arsenal, we are in no danger," exclaimed the Marquis, "and tell me what you think of the visit."

"I think there is not a moment to lose," replied Wulf, agitated. "She loves the King and she hated Susy d'Orsel, therefore she is the assassin. She is the cause of all the troubles that have fallen upon the head of our beloved sovereign. Ah! I want to arrest her! Condemn her to death! Come, Marquis, let us go to her room and seize her!"

"Not yet a while, Wulf; sit down and talk it over. To begin with, we can arrest nobody without proof ... presumption is not sufficient."

"I'll force her to confess!"

"You wouldn't succeed, Wulf, and besides, you have no power to arrest her yourself. That is work for the French authorities. Your duty is simply to go and warn Juve."

"Right away! At once!"

"Hold on ... remember, you are to do nothing without my permission. Now, I repeat, we have no proof yet to offer ... but listen carefully, for I have a plan ... this is it...."

Two hours later, Wulf rejoined Fandor in a boulevard cafe. The excellent man had such an air of elation that the journalist wondered:

"What fool thing is this idiot getting ready to do now!"



CHAPTER XVIII

A SLEEPER

Fandor sat up in bed as the door of his room opened to admit the cautious head of Wulf. "Your Majesty is awake?" he inquired.

"Yes, my Majesty is awake and ready to get up. Wulf, we are going out to-day."

"As your Majesty wishes."

"The Queen has written to say that she is getting bored, and wants me home again. That being the case we had better make the most of our few remaining days, you understand?"

"Not very well."

"Why, this afternoon we must look up some pretty girls and, as my cousin the King of England says, 'Honi soit qui mal y pense.' Evil to him who evil thinks. And now, au revoir, my dear Wulf; by and by I'll invite you to crack a bottle with me."

The punctilious Wulf made the three bows demanded by etiquette, turned on his heel, and left the room.

Fandor sprang out of bed and began to dress.

"After all, it's not altogether a joke," he muttered. "I had to listen to that idiot Wulf jawing away all yesterday evening ... and if I remember right, he said something about being suspicious of that little Marie Pascal. I'll have to stop him making more blunders. He's quite capable of having her arrested. Anyway, Wulf is to do nothing till the return of Juve, and that will give me time to take my precautions."

* * * * *

Fandor and Wulf had just finished a very excellent dinner, which Fandor paid for out of his own pocket. He was careful not to take any of the royal funds for his personal use. Wulf hovered on the borderland of drunkenness, but his ideas still showed some coherence. For the twentieth time he asked Fandor the same question:

"But, Sire, why the deuce are you wearing a false moustache and whiskers to-day?"

"So that I may not be recognized, my friend. I don't like having to give royal tips everywhere."

Fandor was not speaking the truth. His disguise was assumed for other reasons. He did not wish to be recognized either as Frederick-Christian or as Fandor. Since noon—and it was now ten o'clock at night—the two men had been doing Paris together, and Wulf had received the very gratifying appellations of "my excellent friend," "my subtle detective," and other flattering names, so he was now dreaming of decorations, new decorations created especially for him.

Fandor interrupted his thoughts by patting him familiarly on the shoulder:

"Now that we've had dinner, I'm going to tell you something. We've had quite a day of it; we've visited the Bois, where you spat in the lake, the action of a reflective mind; we've been to the top of the Arc de Triomphe and to the Madeleine, so now there is only one joy remaining."

Wulf nodded: "To pay for the dinner."

"Not exactly," laughed Fandor, "that's more of a penance. No, I was referring to a chance meeting, a charming feminine figure, a kiss, a caress. Wulf, what would you say to two plump white arms around your neck?"

Wulf became purple in the face.

"Oh, Sire, that would be great! But when I am with your Majesty, I don't look at women."

"And why not, Wulf?"

"Because the women only look at you."

"That's so, Wulf, that's so; but there is a way of fixing that. You order a drink which I will pay for, then sit here and count all the carriages that pass in the street while I do an errand, it will only take twenty-five minutes.... I'm going to see a girl I know you understand?"

"Yes, Sire. Must I count all the carriages?"

"No, only those drawn by white horses. Au revoir, Wulf."

Fandor left the cafe and hailed a cab:

"Rue Bonaparte. I'll tell you where to stop." He settled back in his seat, an anxious frown on his face.

"I'll just drop a hint to Juve," he thought. "One never knows what may happen.... I suppose he'll be back soon ... to-morrow morning or evening ... and won't he be glad to hear the result of my search!"

Fandor tapped on the glass with his cane, got out, paid the driver and made his way to the house where Juve lived. He still had his pass-key and let himself in, calling:

"Hello! Juve, are you in?"

There was no answer, so Fandor sat at Juve's desk and wrote a long letter, then tracing a diagram upon another sheet, he put them into an envelope addressed to "Monsieur Juve—Urgent."

When he rejoined Wulf, he found the faithful detective on his job.

"I've counted up to 99, Sire, but I'm not quite sure that I'm exact. A bay horse passed, and I wasn't sure whether to count him or not."

"That's all right, we'll take this up another time. I've spoken of you to my little friend and she is crazy to meet you, Wulf."

"Oh, Sire! Sire!"

"Yes ... so come along."

"To her house?"

"Oh, no—this lady is poetic, she wants the first meeting to take place in appropriate surroundings."

While Wulf was cudgeling his brains to think up a verse or two to fit the occasion, Fandor guided him down the Rue Castiglione, the Rue de Rivoli and at length reached the Place de la Concorde. He cast an anxious glance as he passed at the mysterious repairs, repairs not indexed by the administration, and then turned to the Singing Fountains.

"Sire, is this the place?"

"Yes, Wulf, but first there are a few formalities to be gone through."

The two men had reached the parapet overlooking the Seine.

"You are to stand here, Wulf, and look down at the water. You are not to take your eyes off it."

"Why? What does your Majesty mean?"

"Because I have a surprise in store for you, and also I wish to bring about the meeting in a natural manner—to spare the lady's feelings. Now I shall go to meet her and take her to the Singing Fountains. When I whistle you are to join us. Does that meet with your approval?"

"Your Majesty is most kind."

Fandor moved away and after glancing back to make sure Wulf was obeying orders, he quickly drew his revolver and approached the works.

"I must remember Juve's precept," he muttered, "never fire first, and then only when you're sure to hit."

The journalist now examined the palisade which surrounded a ditch of some depth dug in the angle made by the Orangery walls.

"Can't see anything from the outside," he thought, "so I'll go in."

With a running jump he succeeded in catching hold of the palisade top and in a moment was sitting astride of it.

Nobody was in sight. Fandor was a little surprised. He expected to be confronted by some sinister individual.

"All right," he growled, "if you don't mind I'll come in."

Letting go of the top he slid down to the ground. There he found a large hole in which was placed a ladder. This led to the bottom of the ditch where a series of pipes protruded from the soil. Fandor lit his pocket lamp and carefully examined the surroundings.

"Ah," he exclaimed, "it looks as though some perfectly natural repair work was going on."

He then went down listening at each pipe mouth. One of them gave out a peculiar sound, steady and cadenced, in fact, a snore, a real snore.

"Can he be asleep," he muttered.

Climbing quickly out of the ditch, Fandor reached the street again and ran toward the Singing Fountains.

"Either the 'Curiosities of Paris' which I read yesterday in the library is a collection of bad jokes, or the body of the third statue ..."

He did not complete his thought.

After once more making sure that nobody was about, and that the excellent Wulf was still absorbed in contemplation of the Seine, he climbed into the basin at the foot of one of the bronze naiads and waded through mud and water to the base of the statue.

"Now, then, let's see, what must I do next? Seize the statue by the neck, place the left hand in the middle of the body and sway it."

Suiting the action to the word, the journalist applied all his force and in a moment the statue parted in two and swung toward him. The hollow interior appeared like a black hole. Bending forward, Fandor cried:

"Sire, Sire, can you hear me?"

His voice came echoing back to him, but there was no reply from the depths.

"Ah, I can't be mistaken!" he cried, desperately. "Wulf heard this fountain singing the national anthem of Hesse-Weimar, the statue is hollow, therefore the King should be hidden in it."

Again he stood, listening. After a pause an exclamation of surprise escaped him.

"Why, it's the same noise I heard in the pipe ... it's a snore ... the unfortunate man is somewhere asleep!"

To call louder would have been dangerous, and besides, quick action was necessary.

"Nothing venture, nothing gain," he whispered, as, revolver in hand, he stepped inside the statue. He slid rapidly down for a distance of six or eight feet and then landed on earth. There he lay for a minute or two, reasoning that if he should be met by a fusillade, he would be safer in that position.

However, complete silence reigned about him, broken only by the steady and distant snoring.

Then, lighting his electric lamp, Fandor began a survey of the premises into which he had so daringly intruded.



CHAPTER XIX

FREE!

After a brief inspection, a cry of surprise rose to his lips.

"Good Lord!... there he is! Frederick-Christian."

It was indeed the King—a prisoner in the hollow foundations of the Singing Fountains.

"Sire, Sire!"

The King slept on. But his sleep seemed troubled; he breathed in gasps.

"Sire! Sire! Wake up! I have come to save you! Upon my word, that is what might be called a royal sleep."

The journalist's words made no impression on the sleeping monarch, so, ignoring all formality, he laid hands upon the King and gave him a violent shaking.

"For Heaven's sake, try to recognize me ... speak to me ... I am Jerome Fandor ... I've come to save you."

In leaning over the sleeping man, Fandor suddenly got a whiff of his breath and then drew back, amazed.

"Why, he's drunk! As drunk as a lord! Where the deuce did he get it?... Ah, these empty bottles!... Wine!... and ham ... no wonder! What on earth shall I do with him now? How can I get him out of here? I can't leave him in the hands of the cutthroats who have imprisoned him.... But if I do take him away, how the devil will Juve and I be able to catch the accomplices of Fantomas, if he has any?"