Chapter 10 WULFENMIMENGLASCHK

      Wulfenmimenglaschk!

      Fandor stared in consternation at the individual who had just entered the apartment of Frederick-Christian II.

      He was enormously fat and absurd looking. A large red nose stood out between two little blinking eyes; a heavy moustache bushed above his three well-defined chins. In his hand he held a soft green hat, through the ribbon of which was stuck a feather. He wore a wide leather belt containing cartridge cases, and the butts of two revolvers peeped out of his pockets.

      The man began once more.

      "Wulfen … "

      Fandor stopped him with a movement of impatience.

      "Won't you please speak French, so long as we are in France?"

      For the twenty-fifth time this strange individual repeated the phrase which apparently meant his name and added in French:

      "Head of the Secret Service of the Kingdom of Hesse-Weimar and Attaché of your Majesty."

      Fandor congratulated himself that the table separated them. He expected at any moment to be shown up as an impostor. But thinking the best plan would be to try and bluff it through he said graciously:

      "Sit down, Monsieur Wulf."

      "But that isn't possible."

      "Yes, it is … take that chair."

      "I should never dare to," answered the police officer.

      Fandor insisted.

      "We desire you."

      Wulf bowed to such formal instructions, murmuring:

      "I do so at the order of your Majesty."

      Fandor sprang up amazed.

      "Does he take me for the King too? That can't be possible. The head of the Secret Service! They must be carrying this joke out to the bitter end. I'm hanged if I can understand it."

      "What do you want?"

      The man who since his entrance had not taken his eyes off Fandor, now appeared to be considering him with the greatest admiration.

      "Ah! Heaven be thanked… . My most cherished desire has come to pass… . Your Majesty has been good enough to allow me the honor of a personal interview."

      "He must be mad," thought Fandor.

      "Of course I was well acquainted with your august features… . Frederick-Christian II is popular in his kingdom … his portrait hangs on the walls of private houses as well as public buildings. But your Majesty understands that portraits and the reality are often dissimilar… . Now, although for seventeen years I have belonged to the Secret Service of the Kingdom, I have never before had the honor of meeting his Majesty face to face."

      "So, Monsieur Wulf, you think I don't look like my portrait."

      "Pardon me, Sire, that is not what I wish to say. The portrait represents your Majesty as being taller and heavier, with a larger moustache and fairer hair."

      "In other words," said Fandor, smiling, "my portrait flatters me."

      "Oh, Sire, quite the contrary, I assure you."

      "Well, what do you want?"

      Wulf was evidently waiting for this question. He rose from the seat and made a careful inspection of the room, opening each door to see that no one was outside listening. Then he returned to Fandor and whispered:

      "I am here on a secret mission, Sire."

      "Well, let's hear what it is."

      "I am charged with two commissions, one which interests your Majesty, the other the Kingdom. To begin with, I have come to get your reply to the telegram in cipher which his Highness the Minister of the Interior sent your Majesty yesterday."

      "The deuce," thought Fandor, "this is getting annoying. What on earth shall I tell him?"

      Then with an air of innocence he asked:

      "What telegram are you speaking of? I have received none."

      "Your Majesty didn't receive it?"

      "Well, you know the service is rotten in France."

      "Yes," replied Wulf scornfully, "it's easy to see it's a Republic."

      Fandor smiled. If he was compelled to run down his own country for once, it wouldn't matter.

      "What can you expect with the continual strikes … however, that's not our fault, is it, Wulf?"

      "Quite true, Sire."

      The Chief of the Secret Service leaned toward Fandor and whispered mysteriously.

      "I have it, Sire."

      "What," inquired Fandor, with somewhat of anxiety.

      "The text of the telegram."

      Wulf drew out a document and was about to hand it to Fandor, but the latter stopped him with a gesture.

      "Read it to me."

      "His Highness, the Minister of the Interior, begs to inform your Majesty that since his absence a propaganda unfavorable to the throne is being actively spread in the Court and in the town. The partisans of Prince Gudulfin believe the occasion favorable to seize the Government."

      Fandor pretended anger.

      "Ah, it's Prince Gudulfin again!"

      "Alas, Sire, it is always the Prince."

      Fandor repressed a violent laugh.

      "Is that all?"

      "No, Sire. His Highness the Minister requested to know, in the name of the Queen, when your Majesty has the intention of returning to his Kingdom."

      Fandor rose and tapping Wulf amicably on the shoulder replied:

      "Tell the Queen that business of the greatest importance keeps me in Paris, but that before long I hope to return to the Court."

      Wulf looked at him without answering, and Fandor added with great dignity:

      "You can go now."

      "But I have a formal order not to return to Glotzbourg without your Majesty, and when your Majesty is ready I am at your orders. Even to-night."

      Then he added in a low tone:

      "That would be a pity, for in Paris … "

      Fandor glanced quickly at him. So this fat police officer was like the rest of the world. He, too, wanted to have