Chapter 18 A SLEEPER

      Fandor sat up in bed as the door of his room opened to admit the cautious head of Wulf. "Your Majesty is awake?" he inquired.

      "Yes, my Majesty is awake and ready to get up. Wulf, we are going out to-day."

      "As your Majesty wishes."

      "The Queen has written to say that she is getting bored, and wants me home again. That being the case we had better make the most of our few remaining days, you understand?"

      "Not very well."

      "Why, this afternoon we must look up some pretty girls and, as my cousin the King of England says, 'Honi soit qui mal y pense.' Evil to him who evil thinks. And now, au revoir, my dear Wulf; by and by I'll invite you to crack a bottle with me."

      The punctilious Wulf made the three bows demanded by etiquette, turned on his heel, and left the room.

      Fandor sprang out of bed and began to dress.

      "After all, it's not altogether a joke," he muttered. "I had to listen to that idiot Wulf jawing away all yesterday evening … and if I remember right, he said something about being suspicious of that little Marie Pascal. I'll have to stop him making more blunders. He's quite capable of having her arrested. Anyway, Wulf is to do nothing till the return of Juve, and that will give me time to take my precautions."

      Fandor and Wulf had just finished a very excellent dinner, which Fandor paid for out of his own pocket. He was careful not to take any of the royal funds for his personal use. Wulf hovered on the borderland of drunkenness, but his ideas still showed some coherence. For the twentieth time he asked Fandor the same question:

      "But, Sire, why the deuce are you wearing a false moustache and whiskers to-day?"

      "So that I may not be recognized, my friend. I don't like having to give royal tips everywhere."

      Fandor was not speaking the truth. His disguise was assumed for other reasons. He did not wish to be recognized either as Frederick-Christian or as Fandor. Since noon—and it was now ten o'clock at night—the two men had been doing Paris together, and Wulf had received the very gratifying appellations of "my excellent friend," "my subtle detective," and other flattering names, so he was now dreaming of decorations, new decorations created especially for him.

      Fandor interrupted his thoughts by patting him familiarly on the shoulder:

      "Now that we've had dinner, I'm going to tell you something. We've had quite a day of it; we've visited the Bois, where you spat in the lake, the action of a reflective mind; we've been to the top of the Arc de Triomphe and to the Madeleine, so now there is only one joy remaining."

      Wulf nodded: "To pay for the dinner."

      "Not exactly," laughed Fandor, "that's more of a penance. No, I was referring to a chance meeting, a charming feminine figure, a kiss, a caress. Wulf, what would you say to two plump white arms around your neck?"

      Wulf became purple in the face.

      "Oh, Sire, that would be great! But when I am with your Majesty, I don't look at women."

      "And why not, Wulf?"

      "Because the women only look at you."

      "That's so, Wulf, that's so; but there is a way of fixing that. You order a drink which I will pay for, then sit here and count all the carriages that pass in the street while I do an errand, it will only take twenty-five minutes… . I'm going to see a girl I know you understand?"

      "Yes, Sire. Must I count all the carriages?"

      "No, only those drawn by white horses. Au revoir, Wulf."

      Fandor left the café and hailed a cab:

      "Rue Bonaparte. I'll tell you where to stop." He settled back in his seat, an anxious frown on his face.

      "I'll just drop a hint to Juve," he thought. "One never knows what may happen… . I suppose he'll be back soon … to-morrow morning or evening … and won't he be glad to hear the result of my search!"

      Fandor tapped on the glass with his cane, got out, paid the driver and made his way to the house where Juve lived. He still had his pass-key and let himself in, calling:

      "Hello! Juve, are you in?"

      There was no answer, so Fandor sat at Juve's desk and wrote a long letter, then tracing a diagram upon another sheet, he put them into an envelope addressed to "Monsieur Juve—Urgent."

      When he rejoined Wulf, he found the faithful detective on his job.

      "I've counted up to 99, Sire, but I'm not quite sure that I'm exact. A bay horse passed, and I wasn't sure whether to count him or not."

      "That's all right, we'll take this up another time. I've spoken of you to my little friend and she is crazy to meet you, Wulf."

      "Oh, Sire! Sire!"

      "Yes … so come along."

      "To her house?"

      "Oh, no—this lady is poetic, she wants the first meeting to take place in appropriate surroundings."

      While Wulf was cudgeling his brains to think up a verse or two to fit the occasion, Fandor guided him down the Rue Castiglione, the Rue de Rivoli and at length reached the Place de la Concorde. He cast an anxious glance as he passed at the mysterious repairs, repairs not indexed by the administration, and then turned to the Singing Fountains.

      "Sire, is this the place?"

      "Yes, Wulf, but first there are a few formalities to