spite of his drunken stupor he would come to his
assistance as soon as possible. As a matter of fact, Fandor had been set
at liberty. The journalist therefore had waited patiently for the
arrival of the King, who was unaccountably late.

Then little by little it began to dawn on him that the hotel people
were considering him not as a friend of the King but as the King
himself! Under ordinary circumstances, he would at once have made his
identity known, but against that there were now a multitude of
objections. His presence in the apartment of the murdered Susy d'Orsel
had created an ambiguous and disagreeable situation. Again, was the
personnel of the hotel really duped by the substitution?

The situation was becoming more and more difficult for Fandor. He
realized that he was being watched. The evening before one of the clerks
of the Royal Palace Hotel had informed him that his Majesty's automobile
was ready. For a moment Fandor did not know what to do, but finally
decided to take a chance for an outing. As soon as he had come
downstairs he regretted his decision. Among the persons lounging in the
lobby he recognized five or six detectives whom he had known and he
realized that the police would have accurate information as to where he
might go. On reaching the door he saw three or four automobiles lined up
outside. Which one belonged to the King? Faced by this situation he
acted without hesitation, he turned quickly and went back to the Royal
apartment, where during the rest of the evening he had been left in
peace. The following morning he awoke with a violent headache, and
applied the usual remedy for the neuralgia to which he was subject. He
bound up his head with a large silk scarf which he found in the Royal
wardrobe. During the course of the morning his hotel bill was brought to
him, which amounted to four thousand francs.

"Pretty stiff," he muttered, "for three days' stay. It may be all right
for Frederick-Christian II, but for a poor devil of a journalist it is
rather awkward."

Fandor was wondering what he should do about it when the telephone rang
to announce a visitor. After listening at the receiver, his face
suddenly lighted with a broad smile.

"Show him up," he answered.

Several moments afterwards a man entered the apartment He was about
forty and wore the conventional frock coat and light gloves.

"I am," he said, "the private secretary of the Comptoir National de
Credit and am at your Majesty