"Me? Ah, no. But I saw him, though he never saw me."
"But what is the secret that your uncle knows?" I demanded. "If I know, then I can warn the Crown-Prince."
"I do not know," she replied, again shaking her head. "Only—only—well, by some means my uncle knew that you had left Potsdam, and we travelled here on purpose to meet you to obtain from you some facts concerning the Crown-Prince's movements."
"To meet me?" I echoed in surprise. In a moment I saw that Aranda's intentions were evidently evil ones. But just at that juncture the Spaniard came forth in search of his niece.
"Why are you out here?" he asked her gruffly. "Go in. It is too cold for you."
"I came out with the Count to see the glorious panorama of the lake," explained the girl in strange humbleness, and then, turning reluctantly, she obeyed him.
"Come and have a hand at bridge," her uncle urged cheerfully. "The Signora Montalto and young Boileau are ready to make up the four."
To this I agreed, and we followed the girl into the big, white-panelled lounge of the hotel.
Two days later, about four o'clock in the afternoon, Aranda received a telegram, and an hour later left with his niece, who, as she parted from me, whispered:
"Warn the Crown-Prince, won't you?"