to come out, and that as soon as he did so and had started on
his walk, the other followed him, keeping a safe distance behind, but
never for one moment losing sight of him. Reaching the inn, Bertram made
his way to their sitting-room and handed Max the money. He was in the
act of informing him of what had taken place at the bank, when there was
a tap at the door. A moment later it opened, and Brockford stood before
them.

Max sprang to his feet with an exclamation of astonishment.

"Brockford!" he cried, "what on earth does this mean? How did you know I
was here?"

He looked at Bertram as if he thought he must be responsible for the
other's presence.

"You do your friend an injustice if you suspect him," said Brockford.
"He did not know that I was following him. It was Doubleday, the bank
manager, who put me on the trail. He sent word to me that your friend
was at the bank, and when he left I followed him here. Thank God, I have
found you at last. We have searched the country for you. Oh, you foolish
man, why did you run away like that?"

"Because my brother Paul was in Rio looking for me," Max replied simply.
"To have remained here would have been to have fallen into his hands."

"And could you have fallen into kinder hands?"

"That is beside the point," said Max. "It is because of his love for me
that I must keep out of the way. It may sound paradoxical to say so, but
it is the truth."

"Well, you can keep out of the way no longer now," answered Brockford.
"You have returned in the nick of time."

"Returned for what?" Max inquired in astonishment.

"Do you mean to say that you don't know?" asked the other.

"I know nothing," Max replied, with an unmistakable faltering in his
voice. "We have been in the wilds so long that we are ignorant of all
that has happened elsewhere. What is it?"

Bertram noticed that the hand resting on the back of the chair trembled.

"What have you to tell me?" he asked again.

"Is it possible that you are not aware that you are the King of
Pannonia?" continued Brockford in an awed voice.

Max started back with an exclamation of horror.

"King!" he cried in a choking voice. "My God, man! What do you mean? You
don't mean--that--that----"

"I mean that your father is dead, Sire," said Brockford quietly. "He
died three months ago, and your mother followed him six weeks later."

This was more than Max could bear. He dropped into a chair and covered
his face with his hands. F