Claudia was only too glad to do anything she could. She went to the kitchen and foraged for supplies. She was fortunate enough to find a can of soup. This she cooked on a gas stove, and soon had it ready for the invalid. When she came to the bedroom again she found him sitting up in bed and talking. As he attacked the hot soup, his strength came back faster, and he told his story in a fairly connected way. It all resolved itself into this: On the morning before, he went to call his employer, as usual, and, as he passed the windows of the house, he noticed a handsome private steam yacht anchored in the river, not far from shore, so that it should be out of the regular channel of traffic. In Prince Marcos’ room he heard a scuffling, while his employer’s voice was raised in anger and protest. When the valet got there--which he did as fast as he could--he found Marcos struggling with two men. Before the valet could give any help, another man appeared from somewhere and knocked him senseless with some heavy weapon--perhaps a revolver, although he could not be sure. “Would you know that yacht if you saw it again?” asked the detective. “I am almost sure I should,” was the quick reply. “Good! What is your name?” “Phillips, sir.” “Now, Phillips, what became of Prince Marcos after that, so far as you know?” “I came to my senses again, and staggered to the window, because I saw that the prince had gone from the room. Down in the garden two of the men were carrying him to the waterside, where a skiff was tied up to the private landing.” “And they took Prince Marcos to the yacht in that skiff?” “That’s what I suppose. I didn’t see it, because they caught me when I went out of the house--to help the prince.” “You did that, Phillips?” interposed the girl. “That was very brave of you.” Phillips’ eyes lighted up at this praise from the beautiful Claudia, as he replied simply: “I did it, of course, Miss Solado. I had to, because the prince would have done it for me. He is not afraid of anything. However, I wasn’t able to help him. I wasn’t strong after being knocked over the head, and when two of them came for me at once, I had to go under.” There was no “grand-stand play” about Phillips. He told his story with perfect simplicity, and as if he had done only what any other man must have done under the circumstances. “It was very hard on you to lie there on that bench so many hours,” put in Chick. “I thought it was death,” was the reply. “I felt myself growing weaker and weaker, and at last I was all in, my senses gone. The gag had prevented my shouting, or I might have attracted the attention of people going past, either on the river or the road. It would have been only an off chance, at that, but better than nothing.” “You did not know any of the men?” asked Nick. “They were all strangers to me.” The girl could not help giving a slight sigh of relief. At least, her uncle had not taken a personal part in the attack on the valet.