e may have something to tell you. If you delay it may
be too late."

"In that case I will go," I replied.

With that, I had a hurried lunch, and was driven to the station.

As good luck had it, a mail boat had arrived in Southampton that
morning, and, in consequence, I was able to travel to town by the
special train conveying the passengers and mails. It stopped only at
Basingstoke; in consequence, Big Ben was striking four o'clock when my
cab pulled up before the big doors of the Samaritan Hospital.

Having discharged my cabman, I ascended the steps, and rang the bell. A
moment later the door was opened by a porter. He inquired my business in
an off-hand manner, and, when I informed him that I wished to see a
patient named Gulliver, told me to step inside, and sit down in the hall
while he made the necessary inquiries.

"What name shall I say?" he asked, giving me very plainly to understand
by his look that he reserved the right to say whether he would believe
my statement or not.

"You might tell Dr. Whittadge that Prince Paul of Pannonia is here, in
response to a letter he received from him this morning," I said.

The man's eyes opened, and his mouth followed suit. In a moment his
manner had entirely changed.

"I beg your Royal Highness' pardon," he said apologetically, and then,
with delightful ingenuousness, added, "I didn't know it was you. If your
Royal Highness will be kind enough to step this way to the secretary's
office, I will go in search of Dr. Whittadge at once."

I accordingly followed him down the stone corridor to a comfortably
furnished apartment, where I waited while he went off on his errand. By
this time I was as nervous as any schoolgirl. So much depended upon the
next half-hour, that I could scarcely contain my impatience or my
anxiety. I paced up and down the little room, examined the photos of
various benefactors that decorated the walls, and then rejoiced, as my
ears caught the sound of a business-like step on the stones outside. A
moment later the door opened, and a tall, gentlemanly man, who I rightly
guessed was none other than Doctor Whittadge, entered the room.

"Have I the honour of addressing Prince Paul of Pannonia?" he inquired,
closing the door behind him.

"That is my name," I answered. "I received a letter from you this
morning, informing me that a patient named Gulliver under your charge,
declares that he knows the whereabouts of my brother."

"That is so," the docto