"That butler fellow is far too inquisitive for my liking. I found him in here an hour ago, and I'm positive he had been trying to unlock your crocodile suit-case. He made an excuse that he had come to see whether you had a siphon of soda. But I actually caught him bending over your bag." The Prince remained grave and silent. "Where have we met that fellow before? I can't remember." "Neither can I. His face is somehow familiar. I'm sure we've seen him somewhere!" "That's what the Parson says. Write to Max at Whitby, and tell him to come over on some pretext or other and get a glance at the man. Post the letter yourself to-night." "Perhaps the fellow is afraid of his plate," the valet exclaimed in an undertone, laughing. "He needn't be. It's all `B' electro--not worth taking away in a dung-cart. The only thing I've seen is the old woman's necklet, and that she keeps in her room, I fancy. If the sparklers are real they're worth a couple of thousand to the Dutchman." "They are certainly real. She's got them out of the bank in your honour. Her maid told me so to-day. And she means, I believe, to give a big dinner-party for some of the county people to meet you." "Are you sure of this?" asked his master quickly. "The cook told the footman, who told me. The housekeeper to-day ordered a lot of things from London, and to-morrow the invitations are to be sent out." "Are people coming here to dine and sleep?" "Yes. Eight bedrooms are to be prepared." "Then keep an eye on that confounded Italian. Send that letter to Max, and tell him to reply to you in cipher. His letter might fall into somebody else's hands. Max might also inquire into what the police arrangements are about here--where the village constable lives, and where is the nearest police-station." "Couldn't you send me in to Whitby, and I'd give him all instructions, and tell him the state of affairs?" "Yes. Go in the morning. Garrett will take you in on the car. Say you're going to buy me a book I want." And with that his Highness finished tying his cravat with care, and descended into the pretty drawing-room, where the widow, lounging picturesquely beneath the yellow-shaded lamp, awaited him. That evening the Parson, who complained of headache on account of the sun during a walk in the morning, retired to his room early, and until past eleven the Prince sat alone with his fat and flattered hostess. As she lolled back in the big silk-covered easy-chair, slowly fanning herself and trying to look her best, he, calm, calculating person that he was, had his eyes fixed upon her sparkling necklet, wondering how much the old Jew in Amsterdam would give for it. "What a splendid ornament!" he remarked, as though he had noticed it for the first time. "Do you like it?" she asked with a smile. "It belonged to my husband's family."