“Oeffnen!” says I, and while one tried to present arms and dropped his musket, the other made haste to swing open the gates. I clattered through, leaving them to marvel at the sight of their new prince, whose absence must have been the talk of the duchy, arriving unkempt and unshaven at this hour of the day.

There were more guards at the door, to whom I gave sharp orders to have a strong horse saddled and ready for me within ten minutes. I issued further instructions that no one was on any account to be allowed to leave the palace, nor was anyone to be admitted without reference to me. They saluted and stamped and fell over themselves in their hurry to obey; one flung open the doors for me, and I strode masterfully into the hall—this was going to be easy, thinks I.

A sleepy major-domo or night porter came starting out of the chair where he had been dozing; he cried out at the sight of me, and would have roused the place, but I hushed him with a word.

“Send someone to the kitchens,” says I. “Get them to put together such cold foods as will go into a saddle-bag, and bring it here. Also some wine and a flask of spirits. Oh, and some money—bring a purse. Now, go.”

“Your highness is riding out again?” quavers he.

“Yes,” I snapped. “Beeilen sie sich.”

“But, highness…I have instructions…her highness the duchess must be informed.”

“The duchess? She’s here? Not at Strelhow?”

“No, indeed, sir. She returned last night, after…after you were not to be found.” His eyes were round with fright. “There has been terrible concern, highness. Orders have been issued that if word came about you, her highness was to know at once.”

I hadn’t counted on this; she ought to have been at Strelhow still, damn her. It complicated matters—or did it? I stood thinking quickly, while the major-domo hopped from one foot to the other, and made up my mind.

“Well, I’ll tell her myself,” says I. “Now, my good fellow, do exactly as I have told you—and the less said about my return the better—understand?”

I left him chattering obedience, and went up the great staircase four at a time, and strode along to the duchess’s apartments. There were the usual yellow-jacketed sentries at her door, stiffening to attention at the sight of me, and rolling their eyes in astonishment—wouldn’t have done for the 11th Hussars, I’ll tell you. I thumped on the panels, and after a moment a feminine voice called out sleepily: “Wer klopft?”

“Carl Gustaf,” says I, and to the sentries: “Let no one pass.”