ce Aribert called softly. At the sound of his own name
the young man in the cellar feebly raised his head and stared up at
the grating which separated him from his two rescuers. But his features
showed no recognition. He gazed in an aimless, vague, silly manner for a
few seconds, his eyes blinking under the glare of the lantern, and then
his head slowly drooped again on to his chest. He was dressed in a
dark tweed travelling suit, and Racksole observed that one sleeve--the
left--was torn across the upper part of the cuff, and that there were
stains of dirt on the left shoulder. A soiled linen collar, which had
lost all its starch and was half unbuttoned, partially encircled the
captive's neck; his brown boots were unlaced; a cap, a handkerchief,
a portion of a watch-chain, and a few gold coins lay on the floor.
Racksole flashed the lantern into the corners of the cellar, but
he could discover no other furniture except the chair on which the
Hereditary Prince of Posen sat and a small deal table on which were a
plate and a cup.

'Eugen,' cried Prince Aribert once more, but this time his forlorn
nephew made no response whatever, and then Aribert added in a low voice
to Racksole: 'Perhaps he cannot see us clearly.'

'But he must surely recognize your voice,' said Racksole, in a hard,
gloomy tone. There was a pause, and the two men above ground looked at
each other hesitatingly. Each knew that they must enter that cellar and
get Prince Eugen out of it, and each was somehow afraid to take the next
step.

'Thank God he is not dead!' said Aribert.

'He may be worse than dead!' Racksole replied.

'Worse than--What do you mean?'

'I mean--he may be mad.'

'Come,' Aribert almost shouted, with a sudden access of energy--a wild
impulse for action. And, snatching the lantern from Racksole, he rushed
into the dark room where they had heard the conversation of Miss Spencer
and the lady in the red hat. For a moment Racksole did not stir from the
threshold of the window. 'Come,' Prince Aribert repeated, and there was
an imperious command in his utterance. 'What are you afraid of?'

'I don't know,' said Racksole, feeling stupid and queer; 'I don't know.'

Then he marched heavily after Prince Aribert into the room. On the
mantelpiece were a couple of candles which had been blown out, and in
a mechanical, unthinking way, Racksole lighted them, and the two men
glanced round the room. It presented no peculiar features: it was just