“No mention was made to me of any tooth-ache. She had none while she was with me,” grumbled His Royal Highness. Anthony couldn’t resist the feeling that the Crown Prince regarded it as most inconsiderate on the part of Miss Carruthers to have been murdered. “You have been seen together here, of course?” he queried. “But naturally! We dined ‘_à deux_’ in the hotel on Wednesday evening. There is for example, a Captain Willoughby staying here who was also here in the hotel when we stayed before. They say he lives here permanently. If you remember——” “He was the taker of the particularly-important photograph,” interjected Anthony. He made a point of remembering most things—did Mr. Bathurst. “That is so,” supplemented the Crown Prince, “you see Captain Willoughby will be certain to connect us.” Anthony could find no reason to contest the point. “Undoubtedly,” he responded. His Highness came over to him again. “Tell me,” he said, rather more imperiously than Mr. Bathurst considered commendable, “what steps had you taken in respect of my own case? Had you made any investigations?” “It was my intention to have started to-day—strangely enough. I was on the point of starting for Westhampton this morning—your telegram calling me down here was the thing that stopped me. I was convinced, you see, that a judicious inquiry in the Westhampton district might yield good result.” The Crown Prince nodded in corroboration. Putting his right hand on Anthony’s shoulder he looked very carefully round the apartment—then sank his voice to a mere whisper. “Mr. Bathurst,” he said softly, “I take it you are quite familiar with the facts?” “Of yesterday’s tragedy?” “Yes—of the murder.” “Only so far as I have been able to read the morning papers.”