That evening the Prince spent alone in his pretty sitting-room consuming dozens of his pet Russian cigarettes, and thinking hard. For an hour he was busy upon some accounts written in German--accounts from a Jew dealer in precious stones in Amsterdam. The gentleman in question was a good customer of the Prince's, gave fair prices, and asked no questions. His Highness seemed troubled about one item, for as he rested his brow upon his hand, still seated at his desk, he murmured in a low voice to himself: "I'm sure the old Hebrew has done me out of four hundred and fifty! Eighteen hundred was the price agreed for that carroty-headed woman's pendant. That's what comes of leaving business matters to Max." And sighing, he added: "I shall really have to attend to the sales myself, for no doubt we're swindled every time. The old Jew doesn't believe in honour among thieves, it seems!" Some letters which had arrived during his absence were put before him by the valet, Charles. Among them were several invitations to the houses of people struggling to get into society--by the back door, and who wanted to include the name of Prince Albert of Hesse-Holstein in the list of their guests. "Are we likely to be away for long?" asked the valet, at the same time helping himself to a cigarette from his master's silver box. "I haven't the slightest idea," laughed the good-looking young adventurer. "You'll go down to the `Majestic' at Harrogate by the first train in the morning and take the best suite for me. Garrett and I will arrive in the car. Of course you'll tell the usual story to the servants of my wealth, and all that." "The Parson's down there, isn't he?" "Yes, but you'll take no notice of him. Understand?" So the smart young crook who posed as valet, having received his master's instructions, retired to pack his own clothes. At ten next morning Garrett brought round the hundred "racer," now covered in yellow enamel and bearing a different identification-plate from that it had borne the previous day, and with the Prince up beside him wearing a light dust-coat and his peaked cap turned the wrong way, so as not to catch the wind, drew out into Piccadilly, and turned up Shaftesbury Avenue due northward. Throughout that warm summer's day they tore along the Great North Road as far as Doncaster, wary always of the police-traps which abound there. Then, after a light meal, they pushed on to Ferrybridge, taking the right-hand road through Micklefield to the cross-roads beyond Aberford, and then on the well-kept old Roman way which runs through Wetherby to Plampton Corner, and ascends the hill into Harrogate.