“Tell me this first,” De Grost insisted. “Am I not right in assuming that you have signed a solemn undertaking that, in the event of your succeeding to the throne of your country, you will use the whole of your influence towards concluding a treaty with a certain Power, one of the provisions of which is that that Power shall have free access to any one of your ports in the event of war with England?”
There was a moment’s silence. The Prince clutched the back of the chair against which he was leaning.
“Supposing it were true?” he muttered. “It is, after all, an idle promise.”
The Baron shook his head slowly.
“Prince,” he said, “it is no such idle promise as it seems. The man who is seeking to trade upon your poverty knew more than he would tell you. You may have read in the newspapers that your two cousins are confined to the palace with slight colds. The truth has been kept quiet, but it is none the less known to a few of us. The so-called cold is really a virulent attack of diphtheria, and, according to to-night’s reports, neither Prince Cyril nor Prince Henry are expected to live.”
“Is this true?” the Prince gasped.
“It is true,” his host declared. “My information can be relied upon.”
The Prince sat down suddenly. He was looking whiter than ever, and very scared.
“Even then,” he murmured, “there is John.”
“You have been out of touch with your family for some months,” De Grost reminded his visitor. “One or two of us, however, know what you, probably, will soon hear. Prince John has taken the vows and solemnly resigned, before the Archbishop, his heirship. He will be admitted into the Roman Catholic Church in a week or two, and will go straight to a monastery.”