"I can't!" cried the girl, in evident distress. "I really can't! It would be dishonest—criminal!"
"Bah! my dear girl, you are looking at the affair from far too high a standpoint," replied the man she knew as Richter. "It is a mere matter of business. You ask me to assist you to save your brother, and I have simply stated my terms. Surely you would not think that I should travel from Berlin here to Plymouth in order to meet you if I were not ready and eager to help you?"
"I must ask my father. I can speak to him in confidence."
"Your father!" shrieked Mr. Richter in alarm. "By no means. Why, you must not breathe a single word to him. This affair is a strict secret between us. Please understand that." Then, after a pause, he asked in a lower and more serious voice:
"Your brother is, I quite admit, in direst peril, and you alone can save him. Now, what is your decision?"
The girl's reply was in a tone too low for me to overhear. Its tenor, however, was quickly apparent from the Crown-Prince's words:
"You refuse! Very well, then, I cannot assist you. I regret, Miss King, that you have had your journey to England for nothing."
"But won't you help me, Mr. Richter?" cried the girl appealingly. "Do, do, Mr. Richter!"
"No," was his cold answer. "I will, however, give you opportunity to reconsider your decision. You are, no doubt, going to London. So am I. You will meet me in the hall of the Carlton Hotel at seven o'clock on Thursday evening, and we will dine together."
"But I can't—I really can't do as you wish. You surely will not compel me to—to commit a crime!"