d
over a wall, and crept, with infinite caution, up a long, narrow piece
of ground--half garden, half paved yard, till they crouched under a
window--a window which was shielded by curtains, but which had been left
open a little.

'Listen,' said the Prince in his lightest whisper, 'they are talking.'

'Who?'

'The Berlin lady and Miss Spencer. I'm sure it's Miss Spencer's voice.'

Racksole boldly pushed the french window a little wider open, and put
his ear to the aperture, through which came a beam of yellow light.

'Take my place,' he whispered to the Prince, 'they're talking German.
You'll understand better.'

Silently they exchanged places under the window, and the Prince listened
intently.

'Then you refuse?' Miss Spencer's visitor was saying.

There was no answer from Miss Spencer.

'Not even a thousand francs? I tell you I've lost the whole twenty-five
thousand.'

Again no answer.

'Then I'll tell the whole story,' the lady went on, in an angry rush of
words. 'I did what I promised to do. I enticed him here, and you've got
him safe in your vile cellar, poor little man, and you won't give me a
paltry thousand francs.'

'You have already had your price.' The words were Miss Spencer's. They
fell cold and calm on the night air.

'I want another thousand.'

'I haven't it.'

'Then we'll see.'

Prince Aribert heard a rustle of flying skirts; then another movement--a
door banged, and the beam of light through the aperture of the window
suddenly disappeared. He pushed the window wide open. The room was in
darkness, and apparently empty.

'Now for that lantern of yours,' he said eagerly to Theodore Racksole,
after he had translated to him the conversation of the two women,
Racksole produced the dark lantern from the capacious pocket of his dust
coat, and lighted it. The ray flashed about the ground.

'What is it?' exclaimed Prince Aribert with a swift cry, pointing to the
ground. The lantern threw its light on a perpendicular grating at their
feet, through which could be discerned a cellar. They both knelt down,
and peered into the subterranean chamber. On a broken chair a young man
sat listlessly with closed eyes, his head leaning heavily forward on his
chest.

In the feeble light of the lantern he had the livid and ghastly
appearance of a corpse.

'Who can it be?' said Racksole.

'It is Eugen,' was the Prince's low answer.

Chapter Seventeen THE RELEASE OF PRINCE EUGEN

'EUGEN,' Prin