The message had been received by Koch, my assistant, whom I had left at Holzemme. He had disguised it and re-transmitted it to Henkel to hand to me. We always took this precaution, because when abroad incognito, both the Crown-Prince and myself frequently changed our names. So, by employing Henkel in London and a man named Behm in Paris, we were always certain of receiving any important message. When the spy Henkel had left I stood looking out of the window down into Jermyn Street, quite at a loss how to act. The message was one of the greatest importance, and, if not replied to at once, the Emperor would, I knew, institute inquiries, for he was well aware of his son's wild escapades. My first impulse was to wire Koch a reply to be dispatched to His Majesty, but on reflection I realized that the question was one which I could not answer with truth. No. I must find His Highness at all hazards. At once I went to the Coburg Hotel, and fortunately found Count von Hochberg, who at first refused to reveal where his friend was hidden. But when I showed him the telegram and explained the great urgency of a reply, in order to prevent the Emperor from inquiring and knowing the truth, he realized the necessity. "Well, Heltzendorff," he said, somewhat reluctantly, "Cæsar is at some little place they call St. Fillans, in Scotland." "I know it," I cried eagerly. "A place at the end of Loch Earn! We motored past it one day about two years ago. I shall go North at once." "But you can telegraph to him," the Count suggested. "To what address?" "Ah! Why, of course, I don't know his address--only that he is at St. Fillans. I had a note yesterday." Travelling by way of Perth and Gleneagles, I next morning found myself strolling along the picturesque village at the end of the beautiful loch, which presented a truly delightful picture in the autumn sunlight. At the hotel nothing was known of Mr. Lehnhardt, and though I devoted the whole morning to making inquiries I could find no trace of His Highness. The latter would certainly not betray himself as a German, for, speaking English so well, he might very easily adopt an English name. I ate my lunch at the hotel which faces the loch, with Ben Voirlich rising high beyond, and afterwards resumed my wanderings. In many quarters I described my "friend" of whom I was in search, but nobody seemed to have seen him. The precious hours were flying, and I knew that the Emperor at Corfu was impatiently awaiting a reply.