"Never, not as I knows on," the man replied. "But if you don't flummux me by asking questions, I'll do my best to tell yer all about it, and yer'll see as I'm not very far out in my reckonin'. Maybe it will be the last yarn I shall spin, so I must make the most of it. How do I know it was the Crown Prince? Well, I'll tell ye. You see, it was this way. Among the passengers there was a gent a-goin' out to Buenos Ayres as took photographs. And precious well 'e did 'em too, when yer come to think on it. Well, after they'd had a bit o' dinner, the day we got into port, the captain, who was mighty friendly with this 'ere Mr. Mortimer, the agent's clerk, suggested that the passenger gent should take their likenesses, them sittin' together on the ladder to the poop. 'It will be somethin' to remember this day by, and also this 'ere werry nice company,' says he, and so the gent he dives down below to his cabin and fetches up his box of tricks. There they sat, as happy as yer please, smokin' of their segars while their photos was a-bein' took. Next morning we sailed for the Argentine, and about three bells the chief sings out for me to lend a hand to rig up the second officer's cabin for a dark room, so that the gent could fix up the photografts all right. The werry next day he 'ad 'em on deck to show the skipper, and everybody was askin' for one, 'cause they was done so natural. 'E was a free 'anded young gent, and one way an' the other I'd done a good deal for him while 'e was aboard. At last he ups alongside 'o me and says, 'Gulliver,' says he, 'I've got one of them picters left; would yer like to have it?' 'Thank yer kindly, sir,' says I, and with that 'e gives it to me."
The man paused, and whispered something to the nurse, who left him and went to the other side of the room. When she returned she handed him an envelope.
"Well, sir, when we got back to Liverpool again I left the Brazilian Monarch and shipped aboard one of the liners for the Cape. One day, on the homeward voyage, I was a-doin' something on the promenade deck—I forget what—while the passengers was below at their lunch. On one of the chairs was a lot of newspapers, and the one a-lyin' on the top had a big picter of a gent in milingtary uniform. 'Bill,' says I, turning to Bill Collings, who was a-coilin' of a rope alongside o' me, 'you're a scholard, what's the readin' under this 'ere picter?' Mind you I recognised it at once. 'The missing Crown Prince of Pannonia,' says Bill, as slick as the doctor there or you might do yourself. 'That's the cove,' said he—beggin' your 'Ighness's pardon—' 'as cleared out some time back. His family has been a searchin' for 'im 'igh and low, and can't lay their 'ands on him nohow.' 'Have they so?' says I to myself. 'Well, then, when I go home I reckon I can put 'em on his track! For you see I know'd that that photograft was at home if the missis hadn't throwed it away. Well, as soon as we was paid off, I went to the old place and rummaged a bit. There it was sure enough. Next day I took a job on down at the docks, went alof, and bein' a bit shaky, I suppose, after the drink I'd had the night afore, I missed me footin' and tumbled head over heels from the yard-arm to the deck below. And that's wot brought me 'ere. Now you know why I says I could tell where your 'Ighness's brother is."
"Is that the photograph to which you refer?" I inquired, pointing to the envelope he held in his hand.
"Yes, sir," he replied, "and just you see if you can pick out your brother from among the party."
The doctor took the envelope from the man's hand and passed it on to me. The photograph represented five men, all of whom were dressed in white. Three were seated on the ladder leading to the after part of a steamship, the poop, I suppose, while the other two had placed themselves on either side of it. With an eagerness that will be readily understood I scanned the various faces. Then my heart gave a leap, for the man standing on the left of the rails was without a doubt my brother Max. Quite overcome by my emotion, I continued to stare at it until my eyes ached. Then in a voice I scarcely recognised, I asked the man the name of the merchant's agent.
"Mortimer, sir," he replied. "The names of the party are written on the back. The gent had put 'em there afore he gave 'em to me."
I turned the card over, and there saw, corresponding with their respective positions in the photograph, the names of the sitters. The three seated on the steps were Messrs. Thompson, Elford, and Gallagher, respectively. He on the right, wearing the uniform cap, was Captain Ganesford, Commander of the Brazilian Monarch, while the other, the man whose identity I was so anxious to decide, was a Mr. Max Mortimer.
"Thank God!" I said earnestly to myself. "I really believe it is Max." Then turning to the man in the bed, I said, "You have rendered me a service for which I can never be sufficiently grateful. There can be no doubt that the individual you speak of is my brother."
"I am indeed glad to hear it," said the doctor. "I fancied, from the beginning, that there must be something in his tale. Your Christmas Day has not been wasted after all."