"Nothing," was my reply.
"You have no knowledge of the trap into which the Crown-Prince fell when he was in Paris with you six months ago, and when he and I first met?"
"A trap! What do you mean?"
"Has he told you nothing?"
"Not a syllable."
"Ah! Then I cannot be frank with you until I obtain His Highness's permission. He told me that you knew nothing, but I did not believe it. Knowing well what implicit confidence he places in you, I believed that you knew the ghastly truth."
"You alarm me," I said. "If the situation is grave, then I may be able to be of some assistance, more especially if time is pressing."
He hesitated, but refused to reveal a single fact before receiving the Crown-Prince's permission.
Into what trap had "Willie" fallen during our last visit to Paris I could not conceive. His wild orgies in the Montmartre, his constant absences alone, his terrible craving for excitement, his wild and reckless search for pleasure in the lowest haunts of vice, had ever been a source of anxiety to me. Times without number had I lifted a warning finger, only to be derided and ridiculed by the son of the All-Highest One.
Next day, soon after His Highness was dressed, he entered my room.