“That’s he!” he exclaimed.  “The very same!  Eugene Prince is Waldemar von Oldenbach himself!”

Then he told about him.

“Waldemar von Oldenbach!  His father is a German count, his mother was an American.  He was educated in England and afterward came to America and entered Cornell.  That’s where I met him.  He was the cleverest scapegrace that ever lived.  He could sing like an angel, draw like St. Peter, and knew more languages than an Ellis Island interpreter.  He made friends wherever he went.  To look at him and hear him talk you would never think he was a German; he’s the picture of his American mother, and being in England so much he had learned English perfectly.  At the same time he could make himself up like a Frenchman and you’d swear that he and all his ancestors were born in the shadow of Notre Dame.  He was a great old actor, all right.  After he’d been in America a year or so he went back to Germany and entered the navy and became a first lieutenant on the Eitel Friederich.  That’s where he was when the war broke out and the Eitel Friederich was interned.  But Von Oldenbach wasn’t interned with her, not much.  He got away before they had a chance to photograph him and label him, and so no official search was ever made for him as it was in the cases of the other sailors from the Eitel Friederich who escaped.  I have often wondered what became of him, because I knew he was on the Eitel Friederich when she first came into port, but his name didn’t show up among the ship’s officers when they were interned.  Someone on board said he had died the day before the ship was seized and that was all anybody knew about him.  He must have been quietly cruising around the country ever since, disguised and posing as an artist, working himself into one locality after another where he could get information that was of service to his fatherland.  These drawings here are mostly of airplane parts which he’s picked up in various places and his sketches are mostly all rivers and bridges.

“Eugene Prince, indeed! ’Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter,’ that’s what they used to call him in college, after an old student song.  He had such winning ways he could take up with anybody.  Nobody on earth was proof against his charm.  You see how it has worked with yourself, Mr. Wing.  He made himself such a delightful companion, and became of such real service to you in your work of trailing enemy agents that you never suspected he wasn’t the most patriotic American alive.  You would have staked your soul on it.  When he found out you had this letter which tied up old Prince Karl Augustus with your strike case, he managed to get it away from you and so scored one for the Prince, who is a good friend of his.  At the same time he was clever enough to throw suspicion over onto this little Hungarian girl friend of yours, and if this goat hadn’t butted in just at the right time he probably never would have been found out.  As it is, he’ll