'But why? What can be the object of a plot against him?'
'That is a point of which you should know more than me,' she remarked drily.
'Ah! Perhaps, perhaps,' he said. 'But, dear Miss Racksole, why are you so sure?'
'There are several reasons, and they are connected with Mr Dimmock. Did you ever suspect, your Highness, that that poor young man was not entirely loyal to you?'
'He was absolutely loyal,' said the Prince, with all the earnestness of conviction.
'A thousand pardons, but he was not.'
'Miss Racksole, if any other than yourself made that assertion, I would - I would -
'
'Consign them to the deepest dungeon in Posen?' she laughed, lightly.
'Listen.' And she told him of the incidents which had occurred in the night preceding his arrival in the hotel.
'Do you mean, Miss Racksole, that there was an understanding between poor Dimmock and this fellow Jules?'
'There was an understanding.'
'Impossible!'
'Your Highness, the man who wishes to probe a mystery to its root never uses the word 'impossible'. But I will say this for young Mr Dimmock. I think he repented, and I think that it was because he repented that he - er - died so suddenly, and that his body was spirited away.'
'Why has no one told me these things before?' Aribert exclaimed.
'Princes seldom hear the truth,' she said.
He was astonished at her coolness, her firmness of assertion, her air of complete acquaintance with the world.
'Miss Racksole,' he said, 'if you will permit me to say it, I have never in my life met a woman like you. May I rely on your sympathy - your support?'
'My support, Prince? But how?'
'I do not know,' he replied. 'But you could help me if you would. A woman, when she has brain, always has more brain than a man.'
'Ah!' she said ruefully, 'I have no brains, but I do believe I could help you.'
What prompted her to make that assertion she could not have explained, even to herself. But she made it, and she had a suspicion - a prescience - that it would be justified, though by what means, through what good fortune, was still a mystery to her.
'Go to Berlin,' she said. 'I see that you must do that; you have no alternative. As for the rest, we shall see. Something will occur. I shall be here. My father will be here. You must count us as your friends.'
He kissed her hand when he left, and afterwards, when she was alone, she kissed the spot his lips had touched again and again. Now, thinking the matter out in the calmness of solitude, all seemed strange, unreal, uncertain to her.
Were conspiracies actually possible nowadays? Did queer things actually happen in Europe? And did they actually happen in London hotels? She dined with her father that night.
'I hear Prince Aribert has left,' said Theodore Racksole.
'Yes,' she assented. She said not a word about their interview.
8. Arrival And Departure Of The Baroness
ON the following morning, just before lunch, a lady, accompanied by a maid and a considerable quantity of luggage, came to the Grand Babylon Hotel. She was a plump, little old lady, with white hair and an old-fashioned bonnet, and she had a quaint, simple smile of surprise at everything in general.
Nevertheless, she gave the impression of belonging to some aristocracy, though not the English aristocracy. Her tone to her maid, whom she addressed in broken English - the girl being apparently English - was distinctly insolent, with the calm, unconscious insolence peculiar to a certain type of Continental nobility. The name on the lady's card ran thus: 'Baroness Zerlinski'. She desired rooms on the third floor. It happened that Nella was in the bureau.
'On the third floor, madam?' questioned Nella, in her best clerkly manner.
'I did say on de tird floor,' said the plump little old lady.
'We have accommodation on the second floor.'
'I wish to be high up, out of de dust and in de light,' explained the Baroness.
'We have no suites on the third floor, madam.'
'Never mind, no mattaire! Have you not two rooms that communicate?'
Nella consulted her books, rather awkwardly.
'Numbers 122 and 123 communicate.'
'Or is it 121 and 122? the little old lady remarked quickly, and then bit her lip.
'I beg your pardon. I should have said 121 and 122.'
At the moment Nella regarded the Baroness's correction of her figures as a curious chance, but afterwards,
