A curious place to live, you think, outside the principal entrance to an exhibition ground? And is it not strange that a gentleman from Slough required his collars delivered in London? I will make no mystery of the matter. “Three dozen dress-collars” meant “I have escaped and I want your help.” Slough was the place from which he had escaped. The White City was the point at which I must meet him and the hour was nine. At nine o’clock to the moment my taxi-cab drew up in front of the ornate entrance of the exhibition grounds. The place was of course in darkness, and a man who was walking slowly along the curb turned to the cab as it stopped and asked: “Have you brought my collars?” “Step in,” I said. The cabman had his instructions and turned toward the City. To meet these escaping-prisoner cases I had taken a furnished flat in the Edgware Road. It was on the ground floor and had the advantage of having no porter, so that one could go in and out without being spied upon. I opened the door of my flat and ushered my visitor in. “Your name?” I demanded. “Prinz,” he began. “Highness,” said I quickly, “forgive my peremptory tone and please command me. I am entirely at your disposition. If I have been a little taciturn and quiet on the journey, and if I spoke to you a little sharply, pray pardon an over-tired servant of the Empire.” “With pleasure,” he said. He was a little, short man, who wore glasses. “My name,” he said, “is Prinz, Karl Frederick Prinz. I am a Lieutenant of the 34th Selician Regiment.” “Indeed,” I said a little coldly, “you led me to believe you were highly-born. Now what the devil do you mean by doing that?” “It is not my fault, Mr. Heine, that you were deceived,” he said humbly. “What do you expect me to do?” I asked angrily, for one cannot waste time on a reserve lieutenant and such-like cattle. “You ought not to have called me up at all,” I said, raising my voice; “it is abominable. Have I nothing better to do.” He stopped me with a gesture. “Pray do not excite yourself unduly, Mr. Heine,” he said; “for any trouble you may take, my father, the Colonial Secretary, will repay you.” “The illustrious Doctor Prinz?” I said. “Are you his son?” I stretched out my hand and gripped his. “Welcome, a thousand welcomes! I know your Councillor of State father and his Excellency has frequently spoken to me of his son. Come, come,” I said jovially, “help yourself to the good Rhine wine, for it is not often that we are honoured by a visitor of your calibre, Herr Lieutenant.” We drank a bottle together, and then he told me his plans. The difficulty of getting out of England is briefly to _get_ out of England, to secure a place on board a ship is well-nigh impossible, unless you are vouched for by Foreign Office officials, whilst the punishment for stowing away is so heavy that few of the neutral captains care to take the risk of allowing their ships to go out of port, without conducting an independent search.