"Yes," sighed the Prince; "It's gone for ever. I've given notice to the police. They're sending a detective from London to see me, I believe, but I feel certain I shall never see it again." This conversation was repeated by Mrs Northover to her husband, when he returned from business that evening. About the same hour, however, while the Prince was smoking with his clerical friend in his private room at the hotel, the waiter entered, saying that a Mr Mason had called upon his Highness. "That's the man from Scotland Yard!" exclaimed the Prince aloud. "Show him up." A few moments later a rather pale-faced, fair-haired man in shabby brown tweeds was ushered in, and the waiter, who knew the story of Charles's sudden discharge, retired. "Good evening, Prince," exclaimed the new-comer. "I got your wire and came at once." At the same time he produced from his pocket a small cartridge envelope containing something slightly bulky, but carefully sealed. "Right! Go over there, Max, and help yourself to a drink. You're at the `George,' I suppose?" "No. I've got a room here--so as to be near you--in case of necessity, you know," he added meaningly. The two men exchanged glances. It was evident at once that Mr Mason was no stranger, for he helped himself to a cigarette uninvited, and, mixing a small drink, drained it off at a single gulp. Then, after chatting for a quarter of an hour or so, he went out "just to get a wash," as he put it. The Prince, when he had gone, turned over the small packet in his hand without opening it. Then he rose, walked to the window, and in silence looked out upon the old church opposite, deep in thought. The Parson, watching him without a word, knit his brows, and pursed his lips. Next morning the Prince sent Garrett with the car to London, as he wanted some alteration to the hood, and that afternoon, as he crossed the marketplace, he again met Max. Neither spoke. A glance of recognition was all that passed between them. Meanwhile, the detective from London had been making a good many inquiries in Stamford, concerning the associates and friends of the discharged valet Charles. The latter was, the detective declared, an old hand, and his Highness had been very fortunate in getting rid of him when he did. That evening Mr and Mrs Ashdown invited the Prince and the clergyman to dinner, at which they were joined by the sweet-faced Nellie and her father and mother. With true provincial habit, the party broke up at ten-thirty, and while the Parson walked home with the Northovers, his Highness lit a cigar and strolled back to the hotel alone. Until nearly two o'clock he sat smoking, reading, and thinking--thinking always of pretty Nellie--and now and then glancing at the clock. After the church-bell had struck two he had a final "peg," and then turned in. Next morning, when the waiter brought his coffee, the man blurted forth breathlessly: