is
because I love you better than my life that I stand here. I cannot allow
you and your people to suffer when it is in my power to prevent it. All
that I can ask is fairness and justice. I am not guilty, and God will
protect me. Prince Bolaroz, I call upon you to keep your promise. I
am not the slayer of your son, but I am the man you would send to the
block, guilty or innocent."

As he spoke, the Princess dropped back in the chair, her rash courage
gone. A stir near the doorway followed his concluding sentence, and the
other American stepped forward, his face showing his excitement.

"Your Highness," he said, "I should have spoken sooner. My lips were
parted and ready to cry out when Prince Gabriel interposed and prevented
the signing of the decree. Grenfall Lorry did not kill the young Prince.
I can produce the guilty man!"

XXVI. THE GUESSING OF ANGUISH

The startling assertion created a fresh sensation. Sensations had come
so thick and so fast, however, that they seemed component parts of one
grand bewildering climax. The new actor in the drama held the center of
the stage undisputed.

"Harry!" cried Lorry.

"Prince Gabriel, why do you shake like a leaf? Is it because you
know what I am going to say?" exclaimed Anguish, pointing his finger
accusingly at the astonished Prince of Dawsbergen.

Gabriel's lips parted, but nothing more than a gasp escaped them.
Involuntarily his eyes sought the door, then the windows, the peculiar
uncontrollable look of the hunted coming into them. Bolaroz allowed his
gaze to leap instantly to that pallid face and every eye in the room
followed. Yetive was standing again, her face glowing.

"An accomplice has confessed all. I have the word of the man who saw
the crime committed. I charge Prince Gabriel with the murder of His
Highness, Prince Lorenz."

With a groan, Gabriel threw his hands to his heart and tottered forward,
glaring at the merciless face of the accuser.

"Confessed! Betrayed!" he faltered. Then he whirled like a maniac upon
his little coterie of followers. "Vile traitor!" he shrieked, "I will
drink your heart's blood!"

With a howl he leaped toward one of the men, a darkfaced nobleman named
Berrowag. The latter evaded him and rushed toward the door, crying:

"It is a lie! a lie! He has tricked you! I did not confess!"

The Prince was seized by his friends, struggling and cursing. A peculiar
smile lit up the face of Harry Anguish.

"I repeat, he is