I flung the report on the desk.

“Damn that woman!” I exclaimed.

Courtney sat down, and the inevitable cigarette case came out.

“That’s scarcely emphatic enough, my dear boy,” he said.  “Go into the next room and cut loose a bit.”

“I’ve nothing else to cut loose with,” I replied.  “I used up everything, last night.”

“Good,” said he.  “If the pressure is off, you are in shape to think.”

I shook my head.  “No, I’m not—­that’s why I sent for you—­to do the thinking.”

He picked up the Police report.  “I’m glad she registered as Mrs. Armand Dalberg,” he said.

“The devil you are!” I exclaimed.

He nodded.  “The first problem to solve is:  What motive this woman has in proclaiming herself your wife.  There are only two motives possible, I think, and this registry utterly eliminates one of them.”

“You mean it is not blackmail,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“And the other motive?”

“Revenge.”

“Oh, no,” I said; “that woman didn’t come from America to Dornlitz simply for revenge.”

“Very good,” said Courtney.  “Then, the motive is not hers and we must look elsewhere for it.”

“If you mean she is only a tool,” said I, “that is almost as unlikely as revenge.”

“On the contrary, why couldn’t it be both—­and, also, a big pile of money?” he asked.

“Because,” said I, “she would balk at the notoriety.”

Courtney laughed.  “Good, yellow gold, and plenty of it, is a wonderful persuader.”

“Come,” said I; “what’s your guess in the matter?”

He tossed aside his cigarette and leaned a bit forward in his chair.

“The lady has been purchased by someone to come here and pose as your wife; the moving consideration to her was enough cash to make her independently rich and the pleasure of thus being able to square off with you, on her own account.  That’s my guess—­and I fancy it’s yours too,” he ended.

I laughed.  “Yes,” said I; “it is.  I spent the night over the mix and that’s the best solution I could make.”

Courtney lit a fresh cigarette, “Of course, it’s Lotzen,” said he.  “And a very clever plot it is.  No Princess and no Crown for you, my boy, until this Madame Armand Dalberg is eliminated—­and, maybe, not even then.”

“Your ‘then’ is the only rift in the cloud,” said I.  “Eliminate the Spencer woman, and, I think, I can manage.”

He looked at me questioningly.

“Her Highness was very gracious to me last night,” I explained—­and I felt my face getting red.

Courtney got up and came over to me,

“Is it up to a hand-shake, old man?” he asked.

I nodded, and we gripped fingers.

“It would have been up to the King, to-morrow, but for this miserable wife business,” said I.

“Good!” he exclaimed.  “Lotzen does not hold all the cards—­you’ve got a few trumps, too.  It will be a pretty game.”