“No, that is just the trouble,” cried Rebener with a loud laugh. “I can’t seem to forget it. And if Your Royal Highness insists upon keeping on your crown, you had better let Mr. Edestone and myself dine alone.” “Please, Mr. Rebener. Please not so loud,” cautioned the proprietor, pale with terror. “One never knows who may be listening.” “I have a word for you too.” Rebener turned, and shook a threatening finger in his face. “If I find that you cut-throats have murdered Schmidt, I will turn you over to the London police, and let you be hanged as common murderers without having any of the glory of dying for your country. I distinctly told you, that I would not stand for that sort of thing. He was a miserable creature, but he was an American, and we Americans, even if we have got German blood, are not traitors to the country of our adoption.” And he looked with a sneer at the two Englishmen. “Now, if any of you are planning to indulge in any of your pretty little tricks with Mr. Edestone tonight, I give you fair warning. I will call Captain Bright in, and turn the whole lot of you over to him. I think he would be rather surprised to find His Royal Highness in such company.” The man with the beard was literally white with rage. The thick veins swelled along his neck, and his lower lip was trembling. But he controlled himself with an effort, and endeavoured to speak calmly. “Now, now, Mr. Rebener,” he said, “you are unnecessarily excited, and I therefore overlook your disrespect toward me. There is no intention whatever of doing any violence to Mr. Edestone. We hope merely to prevail on him to talk.” “What good will his talking do?” cried the smaller man before his associate could silence him. “We know all that he said today at Buckingham Palace. What we want is his instrument, and if we’re not going after that, what use is this dinner, I would like to know?” “I can’t tell you,” rejoined Rebener, “unless His Royal Highness would be willing to show his hand, and try to persuade Edestone to take our view of the matter.” A sharp retort trembled on the lips of the Jewish-looking man, but just then he caught sight of Bombiadi out of the corner of his eyes gesticulating and making signs to him from behind Rebener’s back. “I suppose that is the only chance left us,” he pretended to consider. “We can try it at any rate. I suppose, too, we had better come to your apartment immediately. Remember, though, we are to remain incognito until I give the word. In the meantime, we are simply ‘Lord Denton’ and ‘Mr. Karlbeck.’” On that agreement, Rebener left; but the proprietor, after following him far enough to make sure that he was out of earshot, returned to the little parlour where the other men waited. “We will have to leave him out of our calculations,” he shook his head. “He is not heart and soul in the cause as is your Royal Highness. However, it can be managed without Rebener.