One afternoon while the Prince and the clergyman were walking together up the High Street, they passed a thin, pale-faced man in dark grey flannels. Glances of recognition were exchanged, but no word was uttered. "Max is at the `George,' isn't he?" asked the Prince. "Yes," replied his companion. "Arrived the night before last, and having a particularly dull time, I should think." "So should I," laughed the Prince. That evening, the two ladies being away at the Milton Hound Show, they took Northover and his assistant, Ashdown, after their business, over to Peterborough to bring them back. Ashdown was some ten years younger than his chief, and rather fond of his whisky and soda. At the Great Northern Hotel in Peterborough they found the ladies; and on their return to Stamford the whole party dined together at the Prince's hotel, an old-fashioned hostelry with old-fashioned English fare. And so another fortnight went past. The autumn winds grew more chilly, and the leaves fell with the advance of October. Nellie constantly met the Prince, in secret, the only person knowing the truth besides themselves being the Parson, who had now become one of the girl's particular friends. While the Prince was dressing for dinner one evening, Charles being engaged in putting the links in his shirt-cuffs, he suddenly asked: "Max is still in Stamford, I suppose?" "I believe so, your Highness." "Well, I want you to take this up to London to-night, Charles." And he drew from a locked drawer a small sealed packet about four inches square, looking like jewellery. "You'll see the address on it. Take it there, then go to the Suffolk Hotel, in Suffolk Street, Strand, and wait till I send you instructions to return." "Very well, your Highness," answered the man who always carried out his master's instructions with blind obedience. Next day, in conversation with Mr Northover, the Prince expressed regret that he had been compelled to discharge his man Charles at a moment's notice. "The man is a thief," he said briefly. "I lost a valuable scarf-pin the other day--one given me by the Emperor. But I never suspected him until a few days ago when I received an anonymous letter telling me that my trusted man, Charles, had, before I took him into my service, been convicted of theft, and was, indeed, one of a gang of clever swindlers! I made inquiries, and discovered this to be the actual truth." "By Jove!" remarked the Reverend Thomas. "Think what an escape the Prince has had! All his jewellery might have suddenly disappeared!" "How very fortunate you were warned!" declared Mr Northover. "Your correspondent was anonymous, you say?" "Yes. Some one must have recognised him in London, I think, and, therefore, given me warning. A most disagreeable affair--I assure you." "Then you've lost the Emperor's present?" asked Nellie.