It was not until I was being driven to von Nauheim's house that I saw a blunder in my plan. I ought not to have left the palace at all, nor to have allowed von Nauheim to be for one moment out of my sight. I had seen him while I was in conversation with the baron; and he had, indeed, appeared to keep near me ostentatiously. This I attributed to his wish to make me dissociate him from the attempt on Minna; and I knew he was at the palace when I left. But he had now had half an hour's grace, and it was obvious that I might have trouble in finding him, and, further, that he might use the time to get to see Minna's double, supposing she had not been carried too far away. My suspense during the short drive was very keen. While all was going so well, I myself had endangered the whole scheme by this act of incredible shortsightedness. But at his house I was relieved. When I inquired for him, the servant told me he was at home.

"Has he been long back from the palace?" I asked indifferently.

"Not very long, your Highness; about half an hour," said the man.

I breathed freely once more. It was better luck than I had deserved.

"Show me to him at once," I said sharply.

The room was empty when I entered, and the man explained that his master was dressing, and that he would announce my visit. Suspicious of trickery in even small things, I kept the room door open lest von Nauheim should attempt to slip away while I was shut up inside it. But he made no attempt of the sort, and after keeping me waiting long enough to try my patience he came in smiling and wearing an air of insolent triumph.

"Ah, Prince, so you've come to pay me a visit, eh? I thought you were never going to enter my doors again. My man told me it was urgent business, too. You look a bit out of sorts. What's up?"

"I come with very serious news," I said.

"Egad, you look it, too," he broke in. "What's the matter?"

"That our whole scheme has fallen through. My cousin, I have every reason to fear, has been carried off by the Ostenburg agents."

"Carried off by the Ostenburgs! why, man, what nonsense is this?" he cried, with an air of incredulity. "Half an hour ago she was kissing that lunatic's hand."

"Nevertheless what I say is true. When she left the throne-room she and the Baroness Gratz entered the carriage to return home, and the carriage has never reached the house. I cannot account for it," I cried, as if amazed and baffled. "That is the only moment she has not been under the strictest guard and watch. But she has gone, and what can it mean but that they have got her?"

"You mean to say you were so foolish as to let her drive through Munich alone, or, rather, with no one but a silly old woman with her, on a day like this, and at such a crisis. Well, you took the responsibility of guarding her, and must put up with the consequences. But I can't believe it."

"The thing is just as I say," I answered, watching him closely.

He pretended to think, then he shook his head and replied:

"You must have jumped to a wrong conclusion altogether. The thing's monstrous. I expect she's just ordered the coachman to drive about the city a bit to show off her fine clothes, and is back by this time."

"You know her too well to think anything of the sort. She has a very clear knowledge of the dangers surrounding her."

"Then you shouldn't have taken her out of my control. And why do you come to me? The last time you were here you made quite a theatrical scene, after which you and I were to be strangers, I thought. Why, then, come to me now?"

"You have an even closer interest in this part of the plot than any one else. She is your promised wife; and it was my duty to acquaint you first with what had happened, and get your assistance in any search to be made."

"You're wonderfully mindful of your duty all of a sudden," he sneered, "Now that you've got us into this mess, you come whining to me to get you out of it."

"I've come out of no regard for you," I answered warmly.

"You've come quite as willingly as I welcome you. Believe that. And what do you want me to do?"

"You had better join with me in searching for her."

"Thank you—for less than nothing. I am to be put to the trouble of trying to find her in order that you may once more have the pleasure of keeping her away from me. I think you had better go and do your own spy-work."

We were each deceiving the other, though I had the clew to his attitude, and we were both wasting time in quarrelling which, had we been in earnest, we should have been only too eager to spend in the search. My motive was of course so to occupy his time that he would have no time to go to the girl; and his object was to keep me as long as possible from making inquiries to trace Minna. I let him appear to have his way, and we spent over an hour wrangling, disputing, and recriminating.

At last he exclaimed that it was no use for us to quarrel; we had better go and tell the news to Baron Heckscher and consult him. So long as we remained together, I did not care where we went nor whom we saw; and after he had occupied a very long time in changing his dress again—time wasted purposely, of course—we drove to the baron's house.

He was a far better actor than von Nauheim, and his consternation and anger were excellently assumed.

"It is ruin to everything. How could you allow it, Prince? We have placed the most precious charge in your hands, have left to you what it was your right, as the only male relative of the countess, to claim, the most delicate work of protecting the person of our future Queen; and now this has happened. I am astounded, dismayed, completely baffled. I had not the faintest idea that even a soul among the whole Ostenburg circle had a thought of what we were planning; and now, just when everything is all but ripe, this calamity has fallen like a thunderbolt."

And he continued to lament in this fashion at great length and with most voluble energy—an exceedingly artistic waste of much further time.

"Heaven knows what may happen next," he cried later on. "If these men get wind who has been in the plot, the whole city will be red with murder. For God's sake, Prince, be careful. You must be of course associated with the unfortunate countess as her relative and as the late Prince's successor, and I warn you most solemnly to be on your guard, most careful and vigilant."

It was a clever stroke, and I understood it well enough. I was to be attacked, but my suspicions of any complicity on his part were to be silenced by this warning.

"My life is of no account; I will not live, indeed, if, through my lack of care, anything happens to my cousin. Death would be my only solace!" I exclaimed passionately.

And this was made the text for a further and longer discussion, until at last Baron Heckscher cried out, as if in sudden dismay:

"But what are we doing? Wasting time in unavailing discussion, while that innocent girl may be enduring God only knows what."

I sprang to my feet also, as if equally distressed. We had occupied hours of valuable time where minutes would have sufficed had we really been in earnest; and the hour when we were due at the ball was fast approaching.

"But what of to-night's proceedings?" asked von Nauheim.

"We must go forward as if nothing of this had happened. I, for one, am all against giving up until we are really beaten. I will cause inquiry to be made at once in a hundred different quarters by our friends and agents, and maybe we shall yet find the countess in time for to-night's work. Is not that best?"

I pretended to demur.

"I fear it is useless. Cannot everything be put off until my cousin is found?"

"No, no, far safer to go on," answered the baron, a little too eagerly. "Even if we cannot present the countess as the future Queen to the people to-night, we are almost sure to be able to find her before to-morrow; and we must make the best excuse possible for her absence to-night."

I raised more objections, and thus wasted more time, only giving way in the end with apparent reluctance. Nearly another hour passed in a fresh heated discussion, and when we separated it was ten o'clock.

I calculated that von Nauheim might safely be left now. I had kept him without food for five hours, and I knew he would barely have time to rush home, put on his fancy-dress costume, snatch a hasty meal, and get to the ball at the appointed time for the meeting of the chief actors in the night's business.

I was soon to have evidence, however, that if I had been active in my preparations my antagonists had also been busy, and had laid deliberate plans for my overthrow at that very moment.

When I left the baron's house, I found, to my surprise, that my carriage had gone.

"You can't even keep in touch with your own servants, it seems, when you want them, to say nothing of guarding the Countess Minna," sneered von Nauheim.

"Apparently not," I answered; but my momentary chagrin was merged the next instant in the thought that this was probably no accident. I remembered that von Nauheim had left the room once for a few minutes, and I read the incident as a danger-signal.

"We'd better have a cab called," he added, and he sent a servant out for one.

When the man returned with one, my companion said:

"Come along, Prince, we've no time to lose."

For a moment I hung back, but, reflecting that I had better not even yet show my hand, I followed him.

The man drove off slowly at first, and as the vehicle lumbered heavily along I felt in my pocket to make sure my revolver was ready for use in need. Von Nauheim was obviously nervous. At first he whistled and drummed with his fingers on the window, and peered out into the streets. It was a dark night, and the driver had left the main road and was taking us through some narrow and ill-lighted streets, and was driving much more quickly.

"Where's the idiot taking us?" exclaimed von Nauheim, assuming a tone of anger. "Doesn't the dolt know his way?"

"He shouldn't have left the main street, should he?" I asked unconcernedly. "Tell him which way to drive. I don't know it."

He put his head out and called to the driver, and a short heated altercation took place, which ended in von Nauheim bidding him drive as fast as he could, since we were in a furious hurry.

The man now whipped up his horse, the cab travelling at a very quick pace indeed, rattling and jolting, swaying and bumping over the rough road with great violence. I began to think there was a plan to overturn it and take the chance of dealing me some injury in the consequent confusion when I might lie in the ruins of it. But there was more than that intended.

I did not know the district in the least, but I knew we had already been much longer in the vehicle than should have sufficed to carry us either to von Nauheim's house or mine, and I thought it time to put a stop to the little play.

"Stop him," I said to my companion. "I am going no farther in this crazy thing. He's either a fool or drunk, or worse."

"What are you afraid of?" he returned, with a laugh. "We're going all right. I know where we are." And I saw him look out anxiously into the dark.

"Well, I'm going no farther."

And I put my hand out of the window and loosened the handle of the door, while I called to the driver to stop. I would not turn my back to von Nauheim for fear of treachery.

"He can't hear you," he gibed. "Put your head out of the window and call him, unless; you're afraid of the dark," and he laughed again.

The situation was becoming graver every moment, and I cursed myself for having been such a foolhardy idiot as to have stepped into a snare set right before my eyes. The carriage was travelling at a high rate of speed, and I had no doubt that I was being carried away from Munich in order to prevent my being present at the ball.

To jump out was impossible without giving my companion an opportunity to deal me a blow or a stab from behind, which, even if it did not kill me, would certainly disable me at a juncture when everything depended upon my retaining the fullest use of every faculty and every ounce of strength I possessed. Yet I suspected that to sit still and do nothing was to allow myself to be carried into some carefully prepared ambush, where the consequences might be even worse.

"I believe you are afraid of the dark," said my companion after a pause; and I could see in the indistinct, vacillating light that his face wore a confident, sneering look of infinitely malicious triumph.

I felt it would be madness to let him carry the matter farther.

"There is some devilment here," I said sternly. "This is all preconcerted. Stop that mad fool out there, and let's have no more of it."

"What do you mean? How dare you?"

Then he stopped suddenly, and I saw him rise from his seat and look out through the front windows of the carriage.

"By God! what does it mean?" he exclaimed excitedly.

His face had lost all its jaunty, blustering expression and had turned gray with sudden fear.

"He's fallen off the box, or jumped off," he cried in a tone hoarse with panic.

It was true. The driver had disappeared, and the horse, freed from all control, was stretching himself out at a wild gallop.

"For God's sake, what had we better do, Prince?" cried the coward, turning to me in positively abject fear.

It was my turn now to smile. His precious play had broken up completely, and instead of having got me into a snare he had brought himself into a mess that was likely enough to cost him his life.

"It serves you right," I growled, with a rough oath. "You'll be lucky if you get out of this mess alive."

He was a coward through and through, and the revulsion of feeling from triumph at having tricked me into his power to the realization that he himself was in dire peril was more than his nerves could stand. He groaned, and covered his eyes as if to shut out the danger, and then fell back in his seat, limp and flaccid, like a girl in a terror-swoon.

There was nothing more to be feared from him, and I turned to consider to help myself. I opened the door of the swaying, swinging carriage, and tried to judge the chances of a leap out into the road.

I could see nothing except in the feeble, oscillating, fitful light of the lamps, while the door bumped and dashed against me so violently that I had to grip hard to prevent myself being thrown out altogether. It seemed impossible to hope for escape that way.

Yet I did not know the road; and, for aught I could tell, any minute might find us dashed to pieces. To sit still, therefore, and wait for the worst to happen was at least equally perilous.

I thought of trying to clamber on to the box-seat so as to get control of the horse; but with the vehicle swaying and bumping as it was the chances were ten thousand to one against. And if I fell in the effort, I should be under the wheels.

Then an idea occurred to me—to wound the horse with a revolver-shot. It was desperate; but all courses were that. The light from the lamps shone on the horse sufficiently to let me see where to shoot; and, gripping with my left hand on to the door frame, I leaned out as far as I dared and, taking careful aim, fired.

I LEANED OUT AS FAR AS I DARED, AND TAKING CAREFUL AIM, FIRED.

I missed the horse altogether, or grazed him very slightly, and frightened him; for I felt the vehicle give a violent jolt to one side and then forward, being nearly upset in the process. Then it dashed onward at a greater speed than before.

I leaned out once more and, getting this time a clearer aim, I fired again. There was a wild and desperate plunge, during which the carriage seemed to stop dead, then there was a terrific smash, and the next instant horse and carriage were lying in an indistinguishable heap in the middle of the road; and I found myself lying unhurt a few yards off.

I got up, and ran to look for von Nauheim. One of the lamps was still burning, and by the light of it I made a discovery that told me much. The horse was no ordinary cab hack, but a valuable beast worth a place in any man's stud. This was clear evidence to me that the whole thing had been planned.

My companion was lying under a heap of the wrecked carriage; and after much trouble I hauled him out, laid him by the roadside, and endeavored to find out whether he was much hurt, or had only fainted from fright.

I could not get him round, however; and as my presence in Munich was too essential to admit of my remaining with him, I was just starting to walk back, meaning to send him help as soon as I could find it, when I heard the voices of men approaching.

I was still suspicious of treachery, and instantly on my guard.

"Is that you, Fritz?" called a voice through the dark. "Why didn't you come on to the proper place?"

I jumped to the conclusion that these were the men who were waiting in ambush at the spot where the carriage ought to have taken me. But I did not know who Fritz was, unless he were the driver, who had fallen off.

"We have had an accident here," I called in reply, muffling my voice; "and the Prince von Gramberg has been badly hurt."

"Is that your Honor speaking?" asked the voice again.

"Come along quickly," I cried. "Fritz"—I blurred the word so that it might pass for any name—"has fallen off the box. You know what to do with the Prince. I must return at once."

"We know," was the answer. "Your Honor's horse is here"—and a man came up with a led horse.

"Do your work properly," I said as I clambered into the saddle, "and mind he's a bit delirious. Pay no heed to what he says till you get my instructions."

And with that I clapped my heels into the ribs of my borrowed horse and galloped off through the dark, laughing to myself at the thought that von Nauheim himself had fallen into the clutches of the very rascals in whose hands he had designed to leave me.