I thought myself the only person who knew that fact--a fact which the
Crown-Prince had revealed to me in the strictest secrecy.
Could this man Martinez Aranda be an agent of police? Yet that seemed
quite impossible.
"You appear to have a more intimate knowledge of His Highness's
movements than I have myself," I replied, utterly amazed at the extent
of the man's information.
His dark, sallow face relaxed into a mysterious smile, and he bent to
make another stroke without replying.
"His Highness should be very careful in the concealment of his movements
when he is incognito," he remarked presently.
"You met him there, eh?" I asked, eager to ascertain the truth, for that
secret visit to Rome had been a most mysterious one, even to me.
"I do not think I need reply to that question," he said. "All I can say
is that the Crown-Prince kept rather queer company on that occasion."
Those words only served to confirm my suspicions. Whenever "Willie"
disappeared alone from Potsdam I could afterwards always trace the
disappearance to his _penchant_ for the eternal feminine. How often,
indeed, had I been present at scenes between the Crown-Princess and her
husband, and how often I had heard the Emperor storm at his son in that
high-pitched voice so peculiar to the Hohenzollerns when unduly excited.
The subject soon dropped, but his statements filled me with
apprehension. It was quite plain that this well-dressed, bald-headed
Spaniard was in possession of some secret of the Crown-Prince's, a
secret which had not been revealed to me.
More than once in the course of the next few days, when we were alone
together, I endeavoured to learn something of the nature of the secret
which took his Highness to the Eternal City, but Aranda was very clever
and discreet. In addition, the attitude of the girl Lola became more
than ever strange. There was a blank look in those big, beautiful eyes
of hers that betrayed something abnormal. But what it was I failed to
decide.
One evening after dinner I saw her walking alone in the moonlight along
the terrace by the lake, and joined her. So preoccupied she seemed that
she scarcely replied to my remarks. Then suddenly she halted, and as
though unable to restrain her feelings longer I heard a low sob escape
her.
"Mademoiselle, what is the matter?" I asked in French. "Tell me."
"Oh, nothing, Monsieur, nothing," she declared in a low, broken voice.
"I--I know I am very foolish, only----"
"Only what? Tell me. That you are in distress I know. Let me assist
you."
She shook her handsome head mournfully.
"No, you cannot assist me," she declared in a tone that told me how
desperate she had now become. "My uncle," she exclaimed, staring
straight before her across the moonlit waters, whence the dark mountains
rose from the opposite bank. "Count, be careful! Do--my--my uncle."
"I don't understand," I said, standing at her side and gazing at her
pale countenance beneath the full light of the moon.
"My uncle--he knows something--be careful--warn the Crown-Prince."
"What does he know?"
"He has never told me."
"Are you in entire ignorance of the reason of the visit of His Highness
to Rome? Try and remember all you know," I urged.
The girl put both her palms to her brow, and, shaking her head, said:
"I can remember nothing--nothing--oh! my poor head! Only warn the man
who in Rome called himself Herr Nebelthau!"
She spoke in a low, nervous tone, and I could see that she was decidedly
hysterical and much unstrung.
"Did you meet Herr Nebelthau?" I asked eagerly.
"Me? Ah, no. But I saw him, though he never saw me."
"But what is the secret that your uncle knows?" I demanded. "If I know,
then I can warn the Crown-Prince."
"I do not know," she replied, again shaking her head. "Only--only--well,
by some means my uncle knew that you had left Potsdam, and we travelled
here on purpose to meet you to obtain from you some facts concerning the
Crown-Prince's movements."
"To meet me?" I echoed in surprise. In a moment I saw that Aranda's
intentions were evidently evil ones. But just at that juncture the
Spaniard came forth in search of his niece.
"Why are you out here?" he asked her gruffly. "Go in. It is too cold for
you."
"I came out with the Count to see the glorious panorama of the lake,"
explained the girl in strange humbleness, and then, turning reluctantly,
she obeyed him.
"Come and have a hand at bridge," her uncle urged cheerfully. "The
Signora Montalto and young Boileau are ready to make up the four."
To this I agreed, and we followed the girl into the big, white-panelled
lounge of the hotel.
Two days later, about four o'clock in the afternoon, Aranda received a
telegram, and an hour later left with his niece, who, as she parted from
me, whispered:
"Warn the Crown-Prince, won't you?"
I promised, and as they drove off to the station I stood waving my hand
to the departing visitors.
A week later I had word from Cuxhaven of the arrival of the
_Hohenzollern_ from Trondhjem, and at once returned to the Marmor
Palace, where on the night of my arrival the Crown-Prince, wearing his
Saxon Uhlan uniform, entered my room, gaily exclaiming:
"Well, Heltzendorff, how are things on the Lake of Garda, eh?"
I briefly explained where I had been, and then, as he lit a cigarette,
standing astride near the fireplace, I asked permission to speak upon a
confidential matter.
"More trouble, eh?" he asked, with a grin and a shrug of the shoulders.
"I do not know," I said seriously, and then, in brief, I related how the
man Aranda had arrived with the girl Lola at the hotel, and what had
followed.
As soon as I mentioned the Lungtevere Mellini, that rather aristocratic
street, which runs parallel with the Tiber on the outskirts of Rome, His
Highness started, his face blanched instantly, and he bit his thin lip.
"_Himmel!_" he gasped. "The fellow knows that I took the name of
Nebelthau! Impossible!"
"But he does," I said quietly. "He is undoubtedly in possession of some
secret concerning your visit to Rome last December."
In His Highness's eyes I noticed a keen, desperate expression which I
had scarcely ever seen there before.
"You are quite certain of this, Heltzendorff, eh?" he asked. "The man's
name is Martinez Aranda?"
"Yes. He says he is from Seville. His niece, Lola Serrano, told me to
warn you that he means mischief."
"Who is the girl? Do I know her?"
"No."
"Why does she warn me?"
"I cannot say," was my reply. "As you are aware, I have no knowledge of
the nature of Your Highness's visit to Rome. I merely report all that I
could gather from the pair, who evidently went to Gardone to meet me."
"Where are they now?"
"In Paris--at the Hotel Terminus, Gare St. Lazare. I found out that they
had taken tickets to Verona and thence to Paris, therefore I telegraphed
to my friend Pinaud, of the Surete, who quickly found them and reported
to me by wire within twenty-four hours."
"H'm! This is serious, Heltzendorff--infernally serious," declared the
Crown-Prince, with knit brows, as he commenced to pace the room with his
hands clasped behind his back.
Suddenly he halted in front of me and smoothed his hair--a habit of his
when perplexed.
"First, the Emperor must know nothing, and the Crown-Princess must be
kept in entire ignorance at all costs," he declared. "I can now foresee
a great amount of trouble. Curse the women! I trusted one, and she--ah!
I can see it all now."
"Is it very serious?" I asked, still anxious to glean the truth.
"Serious!" he cried, staring at me wildly. "Serious! Why, Heltzendorff,
it means everything to me--everything!"
The Crown-Prince was not the kind of man to exhibit fear. Though
degenerate in every sense of the word, and without the slightest idea of
moral obligations, yet he was, nevertheless, utterly oblivious to danger
of any sort, being wildly reckless, with an entire disregard of
consequences. Here, however, he saw that the secret, which he had fondly
believed to be his alone, was known to this mysterious Spaniard.
"I cannot understand why this girl, Lola--or whatever she calls
herself--should warn me. I wonder who she is. What is she like?"
I described her as minutely as I could, more especially the unusual
fairness of her hair, and the large, wide-open, blue eyes. She had a
tiny mole upon her chin, a little to the left.
The description seemed to recall some memory, for suddenly he exclaimed:
"Really, the girl you describe is very like one that I met about a year
ago--a thief-girl in the Montmartre, in Paris, called Lizette Sabin. I
came across her one night in one of the cabarets."
As he spoke he went across to a big antique chest of drawers, one of
which he unlocked with his key, and after a long search he drew out a
cabinet photograph and handed it to me.