he held the key to favor, aye, to a plan which he meant to lay before
the Committee of Ten, a plan breath-taking in its audacity and yet
potential of success. He went to the window and put his great shoulder
against it.

Instantly Haeckel overturned the candle and, picking up the chair,
hurled it at Herman Spier. He heard the clerk go down as he leaped for
the door. Herman had not locked it. He was in the passage before the
concierge had stumbled past the bed.

On the stairs his lightness counted. His bare feet made no sound. He
could hear behind him the great mass of Humbert, hurling itself down.
Haeckel ran as he had never run before. The last flight now, with the
concierge well behind, and liberty two seconds away.

He flung himself against the doors to the street. But they were fastened
by a chain, and the key was not in the lock.

He crumpled up in a heap as the concierge fell on him with fists like
flails.

Some time later, old Adelbert heard a sound in the corridor, and peered
out. Humbert, assisted by the lodger, Spier, was carrying to the attic
what appeared to be an old mattress, rolled up and covered with rags. In
the morning, outside the door, there was a darkish stain, however, which
might have been blood.

CHAPTER XIII. IN THE PARK

At nine o'clock the next morning the Chancellor visited the Crown
Prince. He came without ceremony. Lately he had been coming often. He
liked to come in quietly, and sit for an hour in the schoolroom, saying
nothing. Prince Ferdinand William Otto found these occasions rather
trying.

"I should think," he protested once to his governess, "that he would
have something else to do. He's the Chancellor, he?"

But on this occasion the Chancellor had an errand, the product of
careful thought. Early as it was, already he had read his morning mail
in his study, had dictated his replies, had eaten a frugal breakfast of
fruit and sausage, and in the small inner room which had heard so many
secrets, had listened to the reports of his agents, and of the King's
physicians. Neither had been reassuring.

The King had passed a bad night, and Haeckel was still missing. The
Chancellor's heart was heavy.

The Chancellor watched the Crown Prince, as he sat at the high desk,
laboriously writing. It was the hour of English composition, and Prince
Ferdinand William Otto was writing a theme.

"About dogs," he explained. "I've seen a great many, you know. I could
do it better w