I was well aware that, even should my telegram have the good fortune to catch him at once, Bertram could not reach the capital in less than twenty-four hours. During that time, however, I had not much leisure to think of him; I was kept incessantly busy, bidding my guests farewell, and attending to the various important matters of state, which had perforce been neglected under the stress of the last few days. Busy as I was, however, the face of the man I had seen in the crowd was continually before my eyes. Whenever I went abroad, I scanned the countenances of the people I met, in the hope that I might discover him again. But I was not successful. Look as I would I could find no trace of him. Could I have been mistaken? No! I felt certain I had not. The man's image had printed itself so firmly upon my memory that I could entertain no doubt upon the matter. I was still thinking of this when word was brought to me that my father-in-law elect, the Prince of LilienhÖhe, had reached the palace and desired an audience. On the previous day, that is to say, the day of the funeral, I had only time to salute him. Having received no letter from Ottilie that morning, his presence was the more welcome. I bade them conduct him to my presence.

"You are surprised to see me," he said, as we shook hands. "I have come to acquaint you with the fact that Ottilie is in the city."

"Ottilie here?" I cried, my heart leaping at his words. "When did she arrive?"

"This morning," he answered. "She bids me say that it will give her great pleasure to see you, whenever you can spare the time to come to her. When I left the house she was resting after her journey."

The old city looked brighter now that I knew Ottilie was within its confines. An hour or so later I drove to the LilienhÖhe Palace, where I found her in her boudoir eagerly awaiting my coming. Never had she looked more beautiful than at that moment.

"My poor Paul," she said, as I took her in my arms and kissed her, "you have indeed known great sorrow lately. But, please God, happier times are in store for us."

She spoke of Max, referring to him as a loving and sorrowing sister might have done. Her soft voice and tender words soothed me, and when we walked to the window and looked out upon the great square, I was happier than I had been for many days. The significance of my action did not at first strike me, but presently, when a cheer went up from the street below, and I saw that a crowd had gathered and was watching us, I realised the thought that was in the public mind. Ottilie would have drawn back, but I prevented her.

"Let them see us together," I said, and led her a little nearer the window.

Our action pleased the people below, and cheer after cheer went up. Suddenly, pushing his way through the crowd, I saw the tall figure of Bertram. He had, indeed, returned from Zaarfburg with dispatch. Having learnt my destination at the palace, he had lost no time in following me. On he came, not perhaps as gently as he might have done. Then I saw him stop and look towards his left. A moment later he had turned, and was moving back through the crowd. What could be the matter with him? With straining eyes I watched him pushing and squeezing his way through the throng, then I lost sight of him altogether. Had he seen anything of the man whose whereabouts we were so anxious to discover? I had to wait for an answer to that question.

At last, my impatience quite getting the better of me, I bade Ottilie good-bye, and descended to the courtyard, where my carriage was waiting. Slowly I drove across the yard, and passed out through the great gates. By this time the crowd was so great that it was only with difficulty sufficient space could be cleared for my horses to pass through. Cheer after cheer was given me with the heartiest goodwill. I could see that my being without equerry or escort gave them pleasure. When we turned towards the palace I looked back at the house I had just left, and could see Ottilie's white figure still standing at the window watching me. At the same moment something white was thrown into the carriage. It was a letter without address or writing of any description upon the envelope.

"A petition of some sort," I said to myself, and placed it in my pocket to read at my leisure. As it happened, however, when I reached the palace I found von Marquart there. Important despatches had reached him from the war, and a council meeting was to be called without delay. Though I made inquiries, I could hear nothing of Bertram, save that he had reached there soon after my departure, and had set off for the LilienhÖhe Palace in search of me. It was almost evening by the time he returned, and when he was admitted to my presence there was a look of disappointment upon his face. I praised his diligence in returning so quickly on receipt of my message from Zaarfburg, but this did not make him happy.

"To think that I should have let such a chance slip through my fingers!" he cried angrily.

"To what do you refer?" I inquired.

"I saw Rodriguez in the crowd outside the Prince of LilienhÖhe's gates this morning," he answered. "Unfortunately, however, he also saw me. Only a dozen paces or so separated us, but, try how I would I could not get near him. I searched the crowd through and through, but he had managed to give me the slip. I've been hunting the city for him ever since, but not another sign or trace of him can I discover. What I fear is, that, as he must be aware that I recognised him, he may derive the impression that the game is up, and then they will take to flight. However, with your Majesty's permission, I will go out again to-night and see if I can run across him."

I readily gave that permission, and then bade him go to his room and rest, for the poor fellow looked worn out. He promised to do so, and withdrew. When he had gone I crossed to my writing-table, and sat down before it. The letter which had been thrown into the carriage that morning lay before me.

Scarcely conscious of what I was doing I opened it. On the paper I drew from the envelope were about five lines of writing, which read as follows:

"If it is desired to find that which is lost, hasten to the Buchengasse; enter the fifth house on the right-hand side, and proceed up the stairs to the room on the top floor, overlooking the street, and there will be found that for which you are seeking."

That was all. But the effect it produced upon me I must leave you to imagine. I rang my bell violently.

"Request Herr Bertram to come to me immediately," I said to the servant who appeared in answer to it. Then, when the door had been closed behind the man, I read the message again. Was it a hoax? or was it an attempt to draw us into a trap? Whichever it might be, I was determined to see the matter through. A few minutes later, for he had not had time to retire to rest, Bertram put in an appearance. His quick eye saw that something unusual had happened.

"What is it, your Majesty?" he inquired. "I can see that you have had some news."

"Read that," I said, handing him the letter.

He took it, and did as I commanded.

"Thank God!" I heard him mutter when he had carefully perused the contents of the note.

"What do you think of it?" I inquired. "Can it be true?"

"Let us hope so," he replied. "At any rate, it would be as well for me to go to the house and make certain."

"Yes," I answered; "and I will accompany you. We will start at once."

"Is it wise for your Majesty to come?" Bertram asked anxiously. "If you will entrust the errand to me——"

"It is useless for you to argue," I answered sharply. "My mind is made up, and go with you I must, and will. Prepare yourself, and return here."

Seeing that it would be a waste of time to expostulate further, he departed without another word. Ten minutes or so later we had left the palace by the same door which had witnessed our departure into exile so many years before. Before leaving the palace I had taken the precaution to slip a revolver into my pocket, and, on inquiry, I found that Bertram had done the same. If we were to be the victims of a conspiracy, we should at least be able to render a good account of ourselves. Having crossed the great square, and passed the LilienhÖhe Palace, in the windows of which many lights still showed themselves, we steered for the southern portion of the city, where we had discovered the Buchengasse was situated. It was not a savoury neighbourhood, I had been given to understand, and certainly, when we had left the more fashionable portion of the town behind us, we found ourselves in a quarter where the streets were narrow, and the houses far from prepossessing. Muffled up as we were, it was scarcely likely that anyone would have recognised us, even had the thoroughfares been thronged with pedestrians. As it was, however, they were well-nigh deserted, and for this reason we were able to reach the street, for which we were directing our steps without hindrance.

"This is evidently the one," I said, as we turned into a narrow alley, which was, if anything, darker and more unsavoury than those through which we had hitherto been walking. "Now we have to discover the fifth house on the right-hand side."

We accordingly proceeded down it, counting the houses as we went. They were tall, rambling edifices, and must have ranked amongst the oldest in the city. The upper stories projected far beyond the lower, so that, the street itself being narrow, the roofs were almost within touching distance of each other. One solitary lamp illumined it, but that might as well have been dispensed with, for the wind-tossed jet of flame only served to make the place look even more desolate than before. Number five differed from its fellows in the fact that it was, if possible, dirtier and more uncared for than the remainder of the houses. A faint light shone from one of the upper windows, but the lower portion of the house was in total darkness. Approaching the door, I knocked upon it with my stick. No answer, however, rewarded us. I did so again, with the same result. Once more I knocked; this time with greater success. The first-floor window of the adjoining house was opened, and a man's head appeared.

"What do you want?" said its owner. "This is not the time of night to come banging at peaceable folk's doors."

"We want to gain admittance to this house," I replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Is there anyone in it?"

"Nobody," the man replied. "He who was there went away this afternoon. He left the key with me."

"In that case, I beg you will be good enough to give it to me."

"Not till I know you are the right man," he answered. "The fellow said I was to be sure to only hand it to one person. Have you got the letter he sent you?"

"I have," I hastened to reply, producing the letter from my pocket as I spoke. "Here it is."

When I had passed it up to him he withdrew with it into the room again, to reappear a few moments later with the letter and a key in his hand.

"I suppose it's all right," he said. "At any rate, I'll risk it. Bear in mind, however, that I know nothing of the business that brings you here. I'm only following his instructions."

I took the key and inserted it in the lock. Then we entered the house, and Bertram struck a match and lit a taper he had brought with him. Holding the revolver in my right hand, in case it should be wanted, I passed into the room opening out of the little passage. It was untenanted, save by a mouse, that scuttled away across the floor on seeing us. Finding nothing to reward us there, we passed out into the passage again, and made for the flight of stairs at the further end. The letter had mentioned the top floor, and for this reason our failure to find anything in this room did not disappoint us.

"We must look higher," I whispered to Bertram as we began our climb. The next floor, however, was as barren as its predecessor, and now only the top remained to us. The last flight of stairs was somewhat narrower than the others, and there was an awkward turn in it, which would have been just the spot to have served as a hiding-place for an enemy. We passed it, however, in safety, and at last stood upon the top landing of that strange house. Here there were only two doors. One was in the rear, while the other overlooked the street. Once more recalling the wording of the letter, we decided upon investigating the latter room first. This must be the chamber in which the light we had observed from the street was located. Our revolvers ready in our hands, we approached the door, and I turned the handle.

When we entered the room it was a strange and terrible picture we had before us. The room was only a small one. Its furniture consisted of a bed and two chairs, one of which was overturned upon the floor, a large box, which also served as a table, a bucket, and a number of medicine bottles. Upon the bed lay the body of poor Max, while, half-supported upon the bed and half-resting upon the floor, was the figure of a man lying face downwards. Stepping softly across the room, as if I feared I might wake them, I approached the stranger, for a stranger to me he certainly was. By this time Bertram had also approached the bed, and was leaning over me in order to examine him. Suddenly he uttered a cry and staggered back, as if he had received a blow.

"My God!" he cried. "What does this mean? Am I going mad?"

"What is it, man?" I inquired, springing to my feet and wondering what fresh horror he was going to bring to light.

Once more he advanced towards the bed. His face was ashen in its pallor as he stooped over the dead man.

"It's Moreas!" he said. "Good God, it's Moreas!"

"Moreas!" I repeated, as if I could scarcely believe I heard aright. "How can it be Moreas? Did you not tell me that Max shot him on the plains where they found the diamonds?"

"Yet it is Moreas sure enough," Bertram asserted, still speaking in the same strained voice. "And see, he has been stabbed from behind. This is Rodriguez's handiwork."

He continued to stare from one dead man to the other, as if he were still unable to comprehend the situation. As for me, I had no attention to spare for anyone or anything save that I had once more recovered what had been lost, and that I must act without loss of time. At last I made up my mind as to what was best to be done.

"Return to the palace at once," I said to Bertram, who by this time had somewhat recovered his presence of mind, "and send Strekwitz to me. Afterwards go on to the Count von Marquart's house. He must see the archbishop and arrange the matter of the real burial without delay. It must take place within the next few hours; at any rate, before dawn. Go now as quickly as you can, and when you have seen them return to me here."

"But to leave your Majesty here with——" he began.

I cut him short.

"Never mind me," I replied. "I shall be quite safe. Hasten away to fulfil your errand. There is no time to lose."

Very reluctantly he did as I commanded him, and I heard him go down the stairs and presently leave the house.

In something less than an hour Strekwitz arrived with Bertram following close upon his heels. The latter had seen Von Marquart, who, in his turn, had set off to arrange matters with the archbishop. Within an hour of our entering the room for the first time, everything was settled. From Von Marquart, who received us at the archbishop's palace, I learnt that the good old man had been greatly pained at the news the count had communicated to him. Nevertheless, he was quite agreed that the course we had adopted was the best, both for State and personal reasons. Realising that the fewer people who became cognisant of our secret the less chance there would be of its becoming public property, he took the direction of affairs into his own hands. It was he who unlocked the postern door and admitted our party to the cathedral. It was he who waited with me in the sacristy while the necessary arrangements were being made for the interment, and who conducted me through the great building, so vast and eerie in the light of the lantern he carried in his hand, into the little chapel near the vault. A short service followed, then Maximilian of Pannonia was carried by loving hands, and placed in his last resting-place in the vaults below. When all was over, like a band of conspirators we left the cathedral, and with the archbishop's blessing ringing in my ears, I returned to the palace, to obtain what rest I could before I should be called upon to begin the duties of the day. Dawn was breaking as we let ourselves in; a soft grey light stole across the heavens like an augury of still happier days to come.

And now a few words of explanation before I put down my pen.

It was only after the most careful inquiries had been made, and when we had put together the various items of information we had been able to obtain, that we were in a position to derive any notion as to how, where, and why the dastardly plot, that had caused me so much unhappiness, had been carried out. That Max had not shot Moreas in Brazil, as he had imagined, was only too certain; though how the latter managed to escape from the plain, and ultimately to track his enemy to Zaarfburg, is not quite clear. One thing is certain, however. He must have discovered Rodriguez, possibly in Rio de Janeiro, have heard from him of the curious marks Max had cut upon his chest, after leaving the plain, and having convinced himself that they referred to the cache of diamonds, he had determined to spare no effort to get possession of the information he required. Unfortunately for his own schemes, he fell ill in Pannonia, en route to Zaarfburg. Finding himself unable to push on, Rodriguez was dispatched to the city in hot haste. On the night of his arrival the body was stolen from the clockmaker's house, with the assistance of one of the family, who had been heavily bribed. Pretending that it was the body of his brother, who had perished in the war, he brought it to the capital, and to the house where Moreas lay hidden in the Buchengasse. There the latter was able to read the signs, which were unintelligible to Rodriguez, for the reason that he was not familiar with the topography of that villainous plain. What happened after that is only conjecture. Doubtless, the two men had quarrelled, when Rodriguez, taking advantage of an opportunity that presented itself, stabbed the other in the back, and then fled for his life. And so ends the life story of my brother, the man I loved best in the world; he who, had he lived, would have been Maximilian, King of Pannonia.

And now, as it is possible there may be some who have been induced to take an interest in myself and my fortunes, let me bring my long story to a close by saying that if there is any country in Europe that boasts a happier sovereign than does Pannonia, I do not know it. No man's life, however, is altogether free from trouble; but in these days, thank God, I fancy I have less than most men. I have a good wife and happy, healthy children, the eldest of whom, little Max, bids fair to equal his ever-lamented uncle, the National Hero, in disposition and good looks. In one thing, however, he differs from poor Max; low down between his eyebrows are two curious little lines, that form something not unlike a cross.

"Superstition or not," says my sweet wife, "I can only say that I am glad it is there."

Then for my edification she proceeds to recite the old distich:—

The End.