"I was summoned, Your Majesty," I said, in order to remind him of my presence there.
"Ah! Yes. You know this Miss King, do you not?"
"I received her in Plymouth," was my reply.
"Ah! then you will again recognize her. Probably your services may be very urgently required within the next few hours. You may go," and His Majesty curtly dismissed me.
I waited in the corridor until His Imperial Highness came forth. When he did so he looked flushed and seemed agitated.
There had, I knew, occurred a violent scene between father and son, for to me it seemed as though "Willie" had again fallen beneath the influence of a pretty face.
He drove me in the big Mercédès over to Potsdam, where I had a quantity of military documents awaiting attention, and, after a change of clothes, I tackled them.
Yet my mind kept constantly reverting to the mystery surrounding the golden butterfly.
After dinner that night I returned again to my workroom, when, upon my blotting-pad, I found a note addressed to me in the Crown-Prince's sprawling hand.
Opening it, I found that he had scribbled this message: