"My uncle--he knows something--be careful--warn the Crown-Prince." "What does he know?" "He has never told me." "Are you in entire ignorance of the reason of the visit of His Highness to Rome? Try and remember all you know," I urged. The girl put both her palms to her brow, and, shaking her head, said: "I can remember nothing--nothing--oh! my poor head! Only warn the man who in Rome called himself Herr Nebelthau!" She spoke in a low, nervous tone, and I could see that she was decidedly hysterical and much unstrung. "Did you meet Herr Nebelthau?" I asked eagerly. "Me? Ah, no. But I saw him, though he never saw me." "But what is the secret that your uncle knows?" I demanded. "If I know, then I can warn the Crown-Prince." "I do not know," she replied, again shaking her head. "Only--only--well, by some means my uncle knew that you had left Potsdam, and we travelled here on purpose to meet you to obtain from you some facts concerning the Crown-Prince's movements." "To meet me?" I echoed in surprise. In a moment I saw that Aranda's intentions were evidently evil ones. But just at that juncture the Spaniard came forth in search of his niece. "Why are you out here?" he asked her gruffly. "Go in. It is too cold for you." "I came out with the Count to see the glorious panorama of the lake," explained the girl in strange humbleness, and then, turning reluctantly, she obeyed him. "Come and have a hand at bridge," her uncle urged cheerfully. "The Signora Montalto and young Boileau are ready to make up the four." To this I agreed, and we followed the girl into the big, white-panelled lounge of the hotel. Two days later, about four o'clock in the afternoon, Aranda received a telegram, and an hour later left with his niece, who, as she parted from me, whispered: "Warn the Crown-Prince, won't you?" I promised, and as they drove off to the station I stood waving my hand to the departing visitors. A week later I had word from Cuxhaven of the arrival of the _Hohenzollern_ from Trondhjem, and at once returned to the Marmor Palace, where on the night of my arrival the Crown-Prince, wearing his Saxon Uhlan uniform, entered my room, gaily exclaiming: "Well, Heltzendorff, how are things on the Lake of Garda, eh?" I briefly explained where I had been, and then, as he lit a cigarette, standing astride near the fireplace, I asked permission to speak upon a confidential matter. "More trouble, eh?" he asked, with a grin and a shrug of the shoulders. "I do not know," I said seriously, and then, in brief, I related how the man Aranda had arrived with the girl Lola at the hotel, and what had followed. As soon as I mentioned the Lungtevere Mellini, that rather aristocratic street, which runs parallel with the Tiber on the outskirts of Rome, His Highness started, his face blanched instantly, and he bit his thin lip. "_Himmel!_" he gasped. "The fellow knows that I took the name of Nebelthau! Impossible!"