He was silent, for he was biting his nether lip. What would this estimable widow think if she knew the truth that he had no parish, no wife, no little children, and that he had no right to the sombre garb of religion in which he stood before her? A moment later he succeeded in changing the subject. The Prince lunched alone in his private room, as he always did in hotels in order to impress both management and guests. It was another habit of his, in order to cause servants to talk, to have a big bottle of eau de Cologne placed in his bath each morning. The chatter of servants as to his generosity, and his careless extravagance, was often most useful to him. While the Parson was always parsimonious--which, by the way, was rather belied by his rubicund complexion--the Prince was ever open-handed. The good-looking, well-dressed young man's slight foreign accent entirely disappeared whenever he became Tremlett or Lord Nassington, or Drummond, or any other imaginary person whose identity he from time to time assumed. At present, however, he spoke with just sufficient error of grammar and speech to betray his foreign birth, and as he rose, and stood looking out of the window he presented, in his cool, grey flannels, the ideal young foreign prince of English tastes and English education. Already in the reading-room below, the "Almanach de Gotha" had been handled a dozen times by inquisitive half-pay colonels, and mothers with marriageable daughters. And what had been found printed there had caused a flutter in many hearts. The Prince's audacity was superb. The suspicion of any little _coup_ he made as prince he always managed to wriggle out of. Even though some evil-disposed persons had made ugly allegations against him at times, yet they were not believed. He was a prince and wealthy, therefore what motive had he to descend to the level of a thief? The Parson, too, always managed to evade suspicion. His voice, his manner, and his general get-up were perfect. Those who had visited his house in Bayswater, not far from Queen's Road station, had found it to be the ideal and complete clergyman's home, with study and half-written sermons on the writing-table. Their victims, indeed, were as puzzled as were the police. The Prince's magnificent impertinence and amazing boldness carried him through it all. He was a fatalist. If he and his friends Clayton, Garrett, and Mason were ever caught--well it would be just Fate. Till they actually fell into the hands of the police they would have a good time, and act fearlessly. As he stood at the window, with the eternal Russian cigarette between his lips, gazing thoughtfully out upon the garden below, the door opened and the Parson entered. "Well, Tommy, old chap!" exclaimed his Highness, when in a few moments the two men were lounging in easy-chairs opposite each other. "Now, tell me all about the old girl," he said laughing. "She walks like a pea-hen."