t and I parted company I had not the vaguest idea that we
should ever hold conversation again.

The result of the adventure was, I sent a very interesting story to New
York, omitting my part in it. This done, I wired my assistant in
London not to expect me for some time yet.

The truth was, I determined to hunt for Hillars, and incidentally for
her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia.

CHAPTER VIII

As I came along the road, the dust of which had been laid that
afternoon by an odorous summer rain, the principal thing which struck
my eyes was the quaintness and unquestioned age of the old inn. It was
a relic of the days when feudal lords still warred with one another,
and the united kingdom was undreamt of. It looked to be 300 years old,
and might have been more. From time to time it had undergone various
repairs, as shown by the new stone and signs of modern masonry, the
slate peeping out among the moss-covered tiles. It sat back from the
highway, and was surrounded by thick rows of untrimmed hedges, and was
partly concealed from view by oaks and chestnuts. The gardens were
full of roses all in bloom, and their perfumes hung heavy on the moist
air. And within a stone's throw of the rear the Danube noiselessly
slid along its green banks. All I knew about the inn was that it had
been by a whim of nature the birthplace of that beautiful, erratic and
irresponsible young person, her Serene Highness the Princess
Hildegarde. It was here I thought to find Hillars; though it was idle
curiosity as much as anything which led me to the place.

The village was five miles below. I could see the turrets of the
castle which belonged to the Princess. She was very wealthy, and owned
as many as three strongholds in the petty principality of Hohenphalia.
Capricious indeed must have been the woman who was ready to relinquish
them for freedom.

The innkeeper was a pleasant, ruddy-cheeked old man, who had seen
service. He greeted me with some surprise; tourists, he said, seldom
made this forgotten, out-of-the-way village an objective point. I
received a room which commanded a fine view of the river and a stretch
of the broad highway. I was the only guest. This very loneliness
pleased me. My travel-stained suit I exchanged for knickerbockers and
a belted jacket. I went down to supper; it was a simple affair, and I
was made to feel at home. From the dining-room I caught a momentary
flash of whit