“I supposed sometimes that it was not a lawful business, sir.” He lowered his voice a little and glanced behind him as if to make sure that his employer was not within hearing. “I fancied that Monsieur Wilson might be the proprietor of an establishment for the reception of ladies who did not wish to become mothers.” I could not resist a slight shudder as the gruesome hint came glibly from the lips of the pasty-faced waiter. He did not look the kind of man who would have made any objection to a post in such an establishment. “Some of the ladies whom he introduced here had the air of being afraid of him, I thought,” Gerard added by way of confirmation. Inspector Charles had begun to take notes of this evidence. He now straightened himself up, and looked at Tarleton. “Wouldn’t it be well to search his clothes, Sir Frank? We might find an address, perhaps?” “In another minute. Is there any question you would like to put, Cassilis?” I had to make a call on my courage, as Gerard faced towards me in readiness to be addressed. His figure was not less familiar to me than that of the masked Inquisitor had been. I was now to see whether my voice would sound familiar to him. I dared not modify my usual tone with Tarleton’s keen ears listening. “We have heard that a royal personage was here last night,” I said slowly and distinctly, and then paused to note the effect. At my first words Gerard’s watery eyes grew wider for an instant and I feared the worst. Some note must have been struck in the echoing cells of his memory. But the next moment reassured me. Out of the many hundred voices with which a waiter’s memory must be stored, how should he be able to identify one which he had heard say scarcely a dozen words? The man’s face was a perfect blank again before I went on. “Can you tell us if there were any other strangers present?” I asked boldly. And turning to my chief and the Inspector, I explained, “It seems to me just possible that an attempt may have been planned on the life of the Crown Prince, and that this man may have been mistaken for him.” Tarleton did not reject this suggestion so decidedly as the theory of suicide. I saw a thoughtful expression come on his face, as though he was engaged in trying to adjust the idea with another one previously in his mind. Captain Charles took up the scent quite eagerly. “Do you know what disguise His Royal Highness was wearing?” he demanded. The waiter hesitated and then shook his head. “I had my suspicion, sir, but Madame can tell you for certain.” The Inspector was satisfied with the answer. But Tarleton’s voice rang out sharply. “Let us have your suspicion, please.” Gerard had the air of a man who had committed himself, and regrets it.