In order to make my narrative more clear to you, it is necessary that I should hark back for a short distance and give you an account of my own doings, from the time Max left us up to that never-to-be-forgotten day, when I received the information that he was in Brazil.

Then some eighteen months had gone by, during which period we neither saw nor heard anything of, or from, him. He might have been dead for all we knew to the contrary. In the meantime my engagement to the Princess Ottilie of LilienhÖhe was publicly announced. Of our happiness, and mine in particular, it is not necessary that I should speak. Let me sum it up by saying that if poor Max could have been found, there would not have been a cloud upon our horizon. If the truth must be told, however, I fear the match was not altogether what the Prince of LilienhÖhe himself desired. Max was the Crown Prince, and he would rather have had him for his son-in-law; as, however, for reasons already stated, that was not possible, he was fain to content himself with the next best person, hoping, I suppose, that Max would never appear again, and that, in due course, I should take his place upon the throne. And now let me describe the day on which the information came to us that Max was in Brazil.

It was Christmas Day on which the first really reliable news of Max reached us. I remember that Ottilie and I had been to church alone together, my father and mother not feeling equal to accompanying us. Leaving the churchyard afterwards, we let ourselves into the park by means of a side gate.

"I wonder what Max is doing to-day?" I said to my companion, as we walked along.

"Poor Max!" she answered, and there was a world of sadness in her voice.

"Do you know, Ottilie," I said, "I have a sort of conviction that we shall hear something of him very soon. I don't know why I should think so, but the notion has been in my head for the last few days. Let us hope it may be true."

"God grant it may," she replied. "It would make a different woman of your mother. She is wearing her heart out thinking and grieving about him."

Ottilie and I let ourselves into the house by a side door, and, when we had removed our wraps, proceeded to the Queen's boudoir, where our Christmas mail awaited us. My mother, who had not left her room when we departed for church, received us very graciously. Poor lady, the trials and troubles with which her life had been afflicted were beginning to tell upon her. She seemed to be ageing faster than was consistent with her years. While we were talking, my father entered the room. Time had also laid his finger heavily upon him; his hair was almost snow-white; he walked with a stick, and, as we have been made aware, his heart had not been equal to the work demanded of it for some time past.

When we had saluted him, we sat down to the perusal of our mails. I had opened the greater portion of my correspondence, when I came upon a letter, the handwriting of which was quite unknown to me. Before reading it, I glanced at the signature, but "James Whittadge," or the fact that he was the house surgeon at the famous Samaritan Hospital, told me nothing. I accordingly turned the page and began to read the letter. This is what I found:

"The Samaritan Hospital, London,

"24th December, 18——

"To H.R.H. Prince Paul of Pannonia.

"Sir,—

"The fact that I have been requested by a patient named Thomas Gulliver, now an inmate of this hospital, to communicate with you with as little delay as possible, must serve as my excuse for my presumption in addressing you direct. In common with all the world, I have heard of your Royal Highness' attempt to discover the whereabouts of your brother, the Crown Prince of Pannonia. I am not aware, however, whether you have since learnt his address; if not, it may be of service to you to know that the man Gulliver, to whom I referred just now, declares that he is in a position to give you important information upon that point. He is extremely reticent upon the subject, and avers that he will say nothing about it to anyone, until he has seen you. Should you deem his story worthy of your consideration, I would take the liberty of suggesting an immediate interview, as I fear the man, who is in an extremely dangerous condition, is scarcely likely to be alive for any length of time.

"I have the honour to be,

"Your Royal Highness' obedient servant,

"James Whittadge,

"House Surgeon, Samaritan Hospital."

When I had finished the letter, I read it aloud to the others. Then there was a silence, which lasted while a man might have counted twenty. My mother was the first to speak.

"Can it be true, Paul, do you think? or is it only another attempt to extort money from us?" she asked, in a choking voice.

"It is impossible to answer that question until we have seen the man himself," I replied. "As far as the writer of the letter is concerned, it seems genuine enough. What do you think I had better do?"

"Would it not be advisable for you to go up to town and see the man at once?" said Ottilie, who, noticing that my mother was trembling, had crossed the room and taken her hand.

"Go to London at once, and see this Gulliver, Paul," said my father. "It is just possible he may have something to tell you. If you delay it may be too late."

"In that case I will go," I replied.

With that, I had a hurried lunch, and was driven to the station.

As good luck had it, a mail boat had arrived in Southampton that morning, and, in consequence, I was able to travel to town by the special train conveying the passengers and mails. It stopped only at Basingstoke; in consequence, Big Ben was striking four o'clock when my cab pulled up before the big doors of the Samaritan Hospital.

Having discharged my cabman, I ascended the steps, and rang the bell. A moment later the door was opened by a porter. He inquired my business in an off-hand manner, and, when I informed him that I wished to see a patient named Gulliver, told me to step inside, and sit down in the hall while he made the necessary inquiries.

"What name shall I say?" he asked, giving me very plainly to understand by his look that he reserved the right to say whether he would believe my statement or not.

"You might tell Dr. Whittadge that Prince Paul of Pannonia is here, in response to a letter he received from him this morning," I said.

The man's eyes opened, and his mouth followed suit. In a moment his manner had entirely changed.

"I beg your Royal Highness' pardon," he said apologetically, and then, with delightful ingenuousness, added, "I didn't know it was you. If your Royal Highness will be kind enough to step this way to the secretary's office, I will go in search of Dr. Whittadge at once."

I accordingly followed him down the stone corridor to a comfortably furnished apartment, where I waited while he went off on his errand. By this time I was as nervous as any schoolgirl. So much depended upon the next half-hour, that I could scarcely contain my impatience or my anxiety. I paced up and down the little room, examined the photos of various benefactors that decorated the walls, and then rejoiced, as my ears caught the sound of a business-like step on the stones outside. A moment later the door opened, and a tall, gentlemanly man, who I rightly guessed was none other than Doctor Whittadge, entered the room.

"Have I the honour of addressing Prince Paul of Pannonia?" he inquired, closing the door behind him.

"That is my name," I answered. "I received a letter from you this morning, informing me that a patient named Gulliver under your charge, declares that he knows the whereabouts of my brother."

"That is so," the doctor replied. "The man states that he has not only seen your brother, but has spoken to him. He will not, however, reveal the name of the place, or say anything more concerning it, to anyone save yourself. If you would care to see him, I will conduct you to the ward. I must ask, however, that you will make the interview as short as possible, for the man is in a highly dangerous condition.

"He is a sailor, and was badly injured two days ago by a fall from the rigging of a ship. If your Highness is ready, shall we proceed upstairs?"

"By all means," I answered.

Then without delay he led me upstairs to one of the principal wards.

"Gulliver is in here," he said in a whisper. Beckoning one of the nurses to him, he said something to her in a low voice, after which, inviting me to follow him, he led the way towards a bed at the further end of the room. A screen had been placed before it, and, when we approached, a nurse was feeding the sick man from an invalid cup. He proved to be a rough-looking fellow, between thirty and forty years of age.

The doctor felt his pulse, and then, placing a chair beside the bed, invited me to seat myself.

"Gulliver," he said, bending over him and speaking in a low voice, "this is Prince Paul of Pannonia, whose brother's whereabouts you profess to be able to reveal."

"So I can, sir," said the sick man feebly, turning his head and staring at me. "I know where 'e is, or ought to be, at this 'ere moment. But afore I gives it away, I want to know what I'm a-goin' to git for my information. That's only business, I reckon."

He paused for a moment to recover his breath.

"It isn't for meself I cares," he continued, "but the doctor 'ere tells me I'm a-goin' to slip me cable before long, and that bein' so, who's a-goin' to pervide for the missus and the kids?"

He gazed fixedly at me, as if he were waiting for an answer to his question.

"If your information is really valuable," I replied, "I shall be very happy to pay you a substantial price for it. But you must be able to convince me first that it is genuine. Have you any definite sum in your mind?"

"Well, sir," the man returned, "if I puts you on his track, I reckon it's worth a 'undred quid to yer, isn't it?"

"I will pay you a hundred pounds with pleasure," I answered.

"But you must let me see the brass first," he returned. "I can't afford to take no risks."

"Come, come, my man," said the doctor, shocked at his discourtesy, "if his Royal Highness is good enough to promise you the money, surely that should be sufficient. Remember with whom you are dealing."

"I shall be past rememberin' anything, d'rectly," the other replied. "I don't mean to offend, but wot I wants is to make sure of the blunt. Prince, or no Prince, I don't part with no information till I have seen that for myself. You wouldn't either if you was me."

Fortunately, I had brought my cheque-book with me, thinking circumstances might arise in which I might stand in need of it.

"Never mind," I said to the surgeon, "we won't dispute the matter. If you can let me have a pen and ink, I will draw a cheque in favour of his wife for the amount in question. Should his information prove to be worth it, she can keep the money; if not, well, in that case, the cheque can be destroyed."

The draft was soon completed, and we returned with it to the bedside. The dying man took the cheque in his hand and examined it carefully.

"I 'ate these 'ere bits of paper," he said. "But I reckon it's all right. Anyways, I'm willing to chance it. Now, sir, leastways, your Royal Highness, if you're ready, I'll tell yer all I knows. You mustn't mind if I'm a bit slow. Talking ain't as easy as it used to be."

He paused once more while the doctor glanced anxiously at him. Then he nodded his head, and the man commenced.

"It was this way, yer see, twelve months ago, come March, I shipped from Cardiff A.B. aboard the Brazilian Monarch steamer, owned by Guthrie, Blake & Williamson, bound for Rio, and consigned to Montezma & Co., merchants, of that city. As soon as we got in we anchored in the harbour, and the Spaniard's managin' clerk came aboard as usual to see the skipper. Now I make bold to say that the managin' clerk I saw that day was your Royal 'Ighness's own brother."

My heart sank. It did not look as if the information he was able to give me were likely to have any greater value than that we had received from other people.

"What reason have you for supposing that the individual in question was my brother?" I inquired. "Had you ever seen the Crown Prince?"

"Never, not as I knows on," the man replied. "But if you don't flummux me by asking questions, I'll do my best to tell yer all about it, and yer'll see as I'm not very far out in my reckonin'. Maybe it will be the last yarn I shall spin, so I must make the most of it. How do I know it was the Crown Prince? Well, I'll tell ye. You see, it was this way. Among the passengers there was a gent a-goin' out to Buenos Ayres as took photographs. And precious well 'e did 'em too, when yer come to think on it. Well, after they'd had a bit o' dinner, the day we got into port, the captain, who was mighty friendly with this 'ere Mr. Mortimer, the agent's clerk, suggested that the passenger gent should take their likenesses, them sittin' together on the ladder to the poop. 'It will be somethin' to remember this day by, and also this 'ere werry nice company,' says he, and so the gent he dives down below to his cabin and fetches up his box of tricks. There they sat, as happy as yer please, smokin' of their segars while their photos was a-bein' took. Next morning we sailed for the Argentine, and about three bells the chief sings out for me to lend a hand to rig up the second officer's cabin for a dark room, so that the gent could fix up the photografts all right. The werry next day he 'ad 'em on deck to show the skipper, and everybody was askin' for one, 'cause they was done so natural. 'E was a free 'anded young gent, and one way an' the other I'd done a good deal for him while 'e was aboard. At last he ups alongside 'o me and says, 'Gulliver,' says he, 'I've got one of them picters left; would yer like to have it?' 'Thank yer kindly, sir,' says I, and with that 'e gives it to me."

The man paused, and whispered something to the nurse, who left him and went to the other side of the room. When she returned she handed him an envelope.

"Well, sir, when we got back to Liverpool again I left the Brazilian Monarch and shipped aboard one of the liners for the Cape. One day, on the homeward voyage, I was a-doin' something on the promenade deck—I forget what—while the passengers was below at their lunch. On one of the chairs was a lot of newspapers, and the one a-lyin' on the top had a big picter of a gent in milingtary uniform. 'Bill,' says I, turning to Bill Collings, who was a-coilin' of a rope alongside o' me, 'you're a scholard, what's the readin' under this 'ere picter?' Mind you I recognised it at once. 'The missing Crown Prince of Pannonia,' says Bill, as slick as the doctor there or you might do yourself. 'That's the cove,' said he—beggin' your 'Ighness's pardon—' 'as cleared out some time back. His family has been a searchin' for 'im 'igh and low, and can't lay their 'ands on him nohow.' 'Have they so?' says I to myself. 'Well, then, when I go home I reckon I can put 'em on his track! For you see I know'd that that photograft was at home if the missis hadn't throwed it away. Well, as soon as we was paid off, I went to the old place and rummaged a bit. There it was sure enough. Next day I took a job on down at the docks, went alof, and bein' a bit shaky, I suppose, after the drink I'd had the night afore, I missed me footin' and tumbled head over heels from the yard-arm to the deck below. And that's wot brought me 'ere. Now you know why I says I could tell where your 'Ighness's brother is."

"Is that the photograph to which you refer?" I inquired, pointing to the envelope he held in his hand.

"Yes, sir," he replied, "and just you see if you can pick out your brother from among the party."

The doctor took the envelope from the man's hand and passed it on to me. The photograph represented five men, all of whom were dressed in white. Three were seated on the ladder leading to the after part of a steamship, the poop, I suppose, while the other two had placed themselves on either side of it. With an eagerness that will be readily understood I scanned the various faces. Then my heart gave a leap, for the man standing on the left of the rails was without a doubt my brother Max. Quite overcome by my emotion, I continued to stare at it until my eyes ached. Then in a voice I scarcely recognised, I asked the man the name of the merchant's agent.

"Mortimer, sir," he replied. "The names of the party are written on the back. The gent had put 'em there afore he gave 'em to me."

I turned the card over, and there saw, corresponding with their respective positions in the photograph, the names of the sitters. The three seated on the steps were Messrs. Thompson, Elford, and Gallagher, respectively. He on the right, wearing the uniform cap, was Captain Ganesford, Commander of the Brazilian Monarch, while the other, the man whose identity I was so anxious to decide, was a Mr. Max Mortimer.

"Thank God!" I said earnestly to myself. "I really believe it is Max." Then turning to the man in the bed, I said, "You have rendered me a service for which I can never be sufficiently grateful. There can be no doubt that the individual you speak of is my brother."

"I am indeed glad to hear it," said the doctor. "I fancied, from the beginning, that there must be something in his tale. Your Christmas Day has not been wasted after all."

"Wasted!" I answered. "If this only leads to our finding him, it is likely to be the happiest day of my life. I never paid a hundred pounds away more willingly. May I keep this photograph?"

"Keep it, sir, by all means," said the man. "You're mighty welcome to it. Lord, it's the first time in my life I've ever given a present to a Prince or been worth a 'undred quid."

"I think we had better leave him now," said the doctor. "The excitement can only have a prejudicial effect upon his condition."

I accordingly rose to say farewell to the man.

"Good-bye, your Royal 'Ighness," he said, as I touched his hand, "and good luck to ye. When yer find your brother yer might tell him that it was old Tom Gulliver, of Shadwell, as laid yer on the scent of 'im."

I promised him that I would, though I did not fancy Max would appreciate the circumstance as much as he appeared to do.

Then, having wished him good-bye, I thanked the nurse, and left the ward, the doctor accompanying me as far as the main entrance. There I thanked him for his kindness, and for the trouble he had taken.

I must leave you to imagine how eager I was to reach home.