His visitor hesitated a moment or two before framing his reply. “Mr. Bathurst,” he declared, “I want you to ferret out this dirty blackmailer and put matters right for me. I realise therefore that it is incumbent upon me to be _quite_ frank. In reply to your question then—as to whether I can help you. I have only been to Westhampton once in my life. That was a year ago last February. I attended the Hunt Ball there—but my incognito was strictly maintained. To Tranfield I have never been!” Anthony went straight to the point. “Did the lady in question accompany you?” “No,” replied the Crown Prince, “she did not. But I——” he stopped—seemingly at a momentary loss for words. “Was she there?” asked Anthony, quick to seize the point. The Crown Prince bowed his head in assent. “It would appear then—that, as I foreshadowed—the root of the matter lies at Westhampton? Do you agree?” He eye the Crown Prince with intentness. “It may—very possibly,” came the answer. “On the other hand it may be merely a coincidence. I visited many more places with the lady than Westhampton—as I stated, I have only been in that particular place once.” “You may be right, of course,” conceded Anthony. “Where was the photograph taken?” “At Seabourne—last summer.” “By——?” “A gentleman who was staying in the same hotel. With my own camera. He obliged me by taking it. It was a wish of the lady.” “Can you recollect this gentleman’s name?” The Crown Prince of Clorania frowned as though he found the questions distasteful and disconcerting. “I think it was a Captain Willoughby. I’m not altogether sure. Naturally I wasn’t taking a prominent part in the social life of the hotel at the time.” “What was the name of the Hotel?” “The Cassandra.” “Your Highness still desires to keep the identity of the lady a secret?” “I have no option.” “Very well,” said Anthony. “Leave these letters with me and I will do my best for you. Firstly, however, will you permit me to make a suggestion?” “Yes, certainly!” “Set a trap for your unknown correspondent. Lure him into it—then leave him to the tender mercies of Scotland Yard.” The Crown Prince shook his head. “I’ve thought of that, but I fear the consequences. Some of the story would be certain to become public. I cannot afford it to. I must avoid that at all costs.” “Pay the sum demanded, then,” ventured Anthony. “Fifty thousand pounds?” exclaimed his client in amazement, anger conflicting with incredulity in his voice. “You must be unaware of my very limited resources. Comparatively speaking, Mr. Bathurst, I am a poor man.” “You will give me ‘_carte blanche_’ naturally?” said Anthony.