"Then there is no Walter Franklin. He is a myth?" The Princess nodded.
"Invented to throw you off the scent."
"And Denham, who calls himself George Franklin, really killed Daisy?"
"I believe he did," declared the Princess fiercely. "That man is one of the most wicked creatures born. He is capable of any crime."
Ware said nothing. His brain refused to take in the explanation. That he should have been so deceived seemed incredible, yet deceived he had been. All this time he had been following a phantom, while the real person was tricking him with masterly ingenuity. "But Anne told me herself that she had an uncle called Walter," said he suddenly.
"Of course! To save the man she believed to be her father."
"Wait! Wait! I can't grasp it yet." Giles buried his face in his hands and tried to think the matter out.
The Princess went to the window and drew aside the curtain. "I see nothing of Anne and Olga," she murmured. "Where can they have got to. Oh, am I to lose her after all?" She paused and came back to the couch. "Mr. Ware," she said, "I will tell you all my sad story, and then you can judge what is best to be done."
"That is best," said Giles, lifting up his worn face. "I am quite in the dark so far. The thing seems to be incredible."
"Truth is stranger than fiction," said the Princess quietly. "That is a truism, but no other saying can apply to what I am about to tell you."