Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface

“At that time, I was living with my mother in my late father’s house on Fogel Street in the working-class district when one morning in early April—though snow still lingered in the shade where… miruza flowers bloomed—it might have actually been closer to late March.”

One morning, a splendid Hispano-Suiza luxury car pulled up in front of the office, and a stern-faced, middle-aged butler with imposing sideburns came to visit. "I come from the Drager Duke Family of Central Park. We have a request, and as Madam is waiting, she wished me to convey that she would like you to come at once."

And so Miss Ingrid Aines began to speak. Starting from that point would be simple enough, but then the reader would have no idea what it was all about.

And so, who exactly was this Miss Ingrid Aines! Let me first state this fact.

Do you, dear readers, remember Asta Nielsen—the renowned actress once hailed as a genius of her generation in Seirin—from about thirty years ago, in the mid-1920s? This actress was born in Germany, but as her name suggests, she is Danish. Miss Nielsen particularly excelled in the role of Countess Julia from Strindberg’s plays, but if I were to say that the moment I first met Miss Aines, I recalled Miss Nielsen’s likeness—then perhaps the reader might grasp something of this woman’s beauty: her intellectual charm, the wavy blonde hairline, that melancholy glint in her eyes which nonetheless could not conceal an embraceable loveliness redolent of youth and health in her entirety—or so I consider.

“Is this the twenty-seven-year-old female detective now celebrated throughout Denmark—nay, whose very name resounds across all of Europe?” I found myself wondering time and again, unable to tear my astonished gaze away... To put it thus, I trust this now makes her clear to you. In other words, the young lady was none other than Denmark’s foremost renowned lady detective.

About two years prior—when I had gone to France and extended my trip to visit three Nordic countries, including Denmark—partly at the request of the Metropolitan Police Department, I frequently found myself meeting with the young lady. It was during this time that I visited her home near Copenhagen’s upscale Nyurenberg Street, close to the renowned Gentofte Forest. Upon entering her parlor, I discovered a decorative cabinet filling the wall to the right of the mantelpiece, haphazardly crammed with medals, awards, and badges bestowed by governments and private companies alike.

Among them was one opulent, strikingly eye-catching, gilded ornament. On a thick silver base roughly ten inches wide lay an intricately engraved necklace, its loop inlaid with several genuine small diamonds. Above this, within a bronze plaque clutched by a great eagle, were inscribed the words: “To Miss Ingrid Aines, with deepest gratitude—From the Drager Duke Family.” “Ah, this is magnificent! This is exquisite!”

“Ah, this is magnificent! This is exquisite!” I exclaimed while scrutinizing it from every angle, then found myself wondering aloud: “But just who is this Duke Drager?” When I posed this question, “Please look at the date—it’s already quite an old piece from long ago,” she replied, though she seemed distinctly reluctant to touch the ornament. The engraving bore the year 1948—approximately four years prior to my visit. This story—which I had relentlessly pressed her to recount despite her initial embarrassment and hesitation, until she finally relented with a wry smile and shared the full account—is what I now strive to shape into an orderly narrative. With that clarified, allow me to add but this final remark.

Sea Serpent Necklace

After finishing her meal there, the young lady promptly had the car driven to the duke’s residence.

After all, the Drager Dukes were a family of undisputed renown throughout all Denmark. The family possessed vast farmlands in northern Jutland toward Skagen, and I believe Duke Frederik Drager, two generations prior, had once served as Prime Minister. The late former Duke Knud Drager had also served as Minister of Commerce, and I had heard he had some connection to the current royal family as well. The heir duke was still a very young man, but in any case, within Denmark, when one spoke of Duke Drager, it referred to a great noble family known to all and a grand fortune. On Kings’ Hill beside Central Park stood their palatial residence, reminiscent of a royal castle. After passing through the iron gates of the main entrance emblazoned with the family crest, one embarked upon an interminable path flanked by stone lions, lawns stretching like an endless carpet into the distance, and towering ferns clustered densely on either side—a path that stretched on and on.

Gazing at the picturesque grove ahead, they soon arrived at a towering main entrance formed into a natural green archway by magnificent trees overarching from both sides, where a servant clad in antiquated, imposing livery adorned with gold braid guided them to a splendid parlor.

Before long, the Widow of Duke Knud Drager—the former Minister of Commerce referred to as Her Ladyship—entered the room. The Widow, in her fifties—amply obese and appearing every inch the grand noble matriarch with her large, imposing frame—had a complexion that seemed terribly pallid and lackluster. “Are you Miss Ingrid Aines? I do apologize for summoning you so abruptly, but I have a pressing matter to request… The fact is, our necklace fell victim to theft last night.”

Such was her blunt opening salutation.

“Goodness! “The sea serpent? “That Sea Serpent Necklace was stolen?”

Startled, the young lady took a step forward; as for the Drager ducal family’s Sea Serpent Necklace, its name had resounded across all of Denmark long before the family’s own. Why, not merely within the country! As an object of envy for jewel enthusiasts, it might have resounded throughout all of Europe. “Why on earth was it given such a curious name as ‘Sea Serpent’? …Is it because of its shape?” “There are those who offer various explanations, but no definitive origin is known, you know.” “It’s simply been called that since time immemorial, you know.” “It is said that around the mid-19th century, an ancestor of the ducal family distinguished himself in military service and received it from someone like King Sigismund VI of Sweden.” “It has been the ducal family’s peerless heirloom ever since, you know.”

The necklace was reputed to have over a hundred diamonds inlaid into an intricate platinum chain shaped like two intertwined sea serpents—ranging from small grains of 0.65 and 0.85 carats to larger stones of 1, 2, and 4 carats, with some even reaching around 10 carats in size. By no means could its value be assigned a market price, but if forced to estimate, it was rumored to be worth somewhere between seventy or eighty million kroner to nearly one hundred million kroner. “Oh, please have a seat.”

The Widow pointed to the chair there. While settling her obese body into a seat as well, “Since I have certain considerations, I have yet to report it to the National Police Bureau, the Metropolitan Police Department—or anywhere else.” “Since we have certain ties with the royal family, we thought it best not to cause such inconvenience to the royal household over this matter.”

...she came out with such an odd remark. “However, the stolen item must be retrieved by all means.” “While I cannot deny feeling uneasy about entrusting this to a female detective, I’ve decided to rely on you entirely here.”

There it was—it had begun! The young lady gave a wry smile. The theft of the hundred-million-kroner necklace must undoubtedly have been a blow to the ducal family, but for her, there could be no more unpleasant insult than being deemed unreliable solely because she was a lady detective. If you required such a dependable detective, you might as well have commissioned some broken-down pugilist missing ears and a nose! And she couldn’t help wanting to voice at least one such sardonic remark. “It’s not as if a woman like myself chose to become a detective out of personal inclination, you know.” “Nor do I find any particular meaning in this work… It’s simply… my father passed away.”

The young lady faltered for an instant. “After all, my father—who was a detective—left behind a mountain of debts when he died, so there’s no way to repay them except through this work… And before I knew it, I ended up sliding into this line of work and even got myself this silly little license.”

With a somewhat bashful air and tinged with melancholy, she turned out the lining of her jacket to reveal what lay within. There, shining resplendent beside a handgun permit, glimmered a small silver detective badge issued by Denmark’s Minister of the Interior—its design intertwining crown, lion, and swan.

“So for that reason, I would ask you to spare no effort… How does that sound?” “We have some leads of our own, but you *do* possess confidence in retrieving it, do you not?” “Well, without hearing the full account, I cannot give a definitive answer… but I will do everything in my power.” “This ‘everything in your power’—such an equivocal response is unsatisfactory.” “Whether within your capabilities or not—you *shall* recover it…”

Her eyes, set within a massive double chin, gleamed darkly—whether strong or weak, she was a woman who seemed to have emerged from sheer will itself.

“……Well? “Miss Aines, can I get you to commit clearly?” “Very well, Madam. I shall take full responsibility... In any case, please tell me the full account of the incident.” “It is we who must have you listen properly to one matter.”

At the Drager ducal mansion, in celebration of the twenty-fifth birth anniversary of Duke Henrik Drager, the young head of the family, they hosted a soirée last night for around 170 to 180 acquaintances.

“From the Royal Family—in representation of His Majesty the King—Prince Sven Philip graced us with his presence…” The moment she heard Prince Philip’s name, she started and her face clouded over. But she quickly feigned ignorance and continued listening attentively. The banquet—centered around His Highness—had begun at 7:30 PM and concluded at 10 PM. Following this, it transitioned to a dance party from 10:00 PM until 11:30 PM, with all guests thought to have departed just past midnight. After seeing off the guests, she retired to her second-floor bedroom—and when the Widow removed the necklace to store it in the safe…

“When on earth was it switched with such a counterfeit? I simply cannot comprehend it, no matter how I try.” “Before the guests arrived… Well, since I was standing at the hall entrance from around seven o’clock to greet them, when I changed into my evening gown and took the necklace out of the safe, it must have been around six-thirty.” “At that time, it was unquestionably the genuine Sea Serpent Necklace.” “When I took it off… No, even after taking it off, I still didn’t realize.” “As I tried to put it into the safe, I noticed something felt off about the texture against my palm—and upon closer inspection, both in color and shape, it was an utterly dissimilar counterfeit.” “When I think that I was wearing such a thing and greeting all those distinguished guests with all due courtesy, I truly want to crawl into a hole.”

The obese Widow looked thoroughly disgusted. “This is the counterfeit.”

Irritably, she opened the paper package resting on the edge of the side table and showed it. As they say, glass captures diamonds' true essence better than any imitation gemstone—and indeed, every piece set in the platinum chain turned out to be mere glass beads. Yet glittering with trailing rays of light, these worthless baubles appeared rather magnificent. Both in coloration and craftsmanship, the culprit had undoubtedly prepared this counterfeit from the very beginning with the Sea Serpent as their target. The platinum chain itself depicted two intertwined serpent bodies.

Had this imposing Widow worn it at the banquet hall, anyone might have mistaken it for the genuine article. Even the lord and his wife, who were accustomed to seeing it regularly, did not notice until their mother started making a fuss. “So, it would mean that between 7:30 PM and 11:30 PM—from when the banquet began until the dance party ended—it was taken from you.” “During that time, did you perhaps feel unwell and step away from your seat for a while?” “Did you perhaps experience a slight spell of dizziness…?”

“No.” “Since my son and daughter-in-law were with me, these two can attest to that.” “Or perhaps someone unexpectedly sidled up to you?” “...Or perhaps someone collided with you head-on unexpectedly?” This question seemed to have deeply wounded the arrogant noblewoman’s pride. “I have never once engaged in such vulgar behavior. “Because everyone present was a person of distinguished status.”

And she put an unpleasant amount of emphasis on the matter of distinguished status. “Did you dance with anyone?” “I have a slight tendency toward diabetes, you see. Since the doctor has forbidden me from doing so, I do not dance at all.” “Even if I weren’t forbidden, at my age now, you see…”

A bitter smile surfaced on her plump cheeks. “Well then… Given that the necklace you were wearing in front of so many distinguished guests was stolen and replaced with a counterfeit, I shall proceed under that assumption for now… I shall inquire in greater detail at a later time.” And with that, she decided to suspend her questioning here for the time being. “Now then, Madam, please describe the appearance of the real necklace. “In what points and manner does this counterfeit differ from the genuine article? How many carats were the jewels in the heirloom, and where exactly were they placed?” “Please provide those details as thoroughly as possible... If Madam’s memory alone proves insufficient, kindly summon the Young Madam as well.” “If there are any photographs available, that would be most ideal.”

“Well, we don’t have any photographs taken specifically of just the necklace.” “If there are none, then photographs of you, Madam, will suffice.” “Where you were wearing the necklace.”

The crime scene also needed to be examined, and the servants' testimonies had to be cross-checked. She decided to call her home and summon her two assistants, Ebbe and Aage. Before the two arrived, she had created a rough sketch of the stolen necklace based on the photographs and the Widow’s description.

The Widow of Duke Drager

The necklace was looped twice, with a ten-carat diamond set at the center of the inner loop. Beyond this, forming a large circle, the outer loop gently draped over the chest, inlaid with 122 handpicked diamonds—nine-carat, eight-carat, descending to three-, two-, and one-carat stones, down to 0.85 and 0.65 carats—all reputed to be the finest in Europe.

The base was a platinum chain as slender as thread, depicting two sea serpents, with a total length of fifty-four inches. As for the weight, while the exact figure remained unknown, the sensation when worn was entirely identical to this counterfeit. That was precisely why she hadn’t noticed a thing even after it had been swapped out, the Widow added. In any case, she had to take this counterfeit back and detect fingerprints.

The current duke, Duke Henrik Drager, had already left for work and was absent when the Duchess appeared. Like a princess raised in seclusion who retained only the nominal title of Duchess after marriage—with all household affairs managed by the strong-willed Widow—she seemed to lead a doll-like existence alongside her husband within their chambers. “Mother truly treasures that necklace,” she said. “She rarely wears it and absolutely forbids the servants from touching it.” “Last night, since there were esteemed guests present, she took it out of the safe for the first time in ages.” “I do hope it can be found quickly.”

This would not do. I didn’t think we’d get any useful lead from this young wife who seemed like a mere girl.

In any case, I decided to have someone guide me to last night’s banquet hall.

“His Highness was seated here, with Madam Garnet—the American Ambassador’s wife—in the adjacent seat. Next to her sat Mr. Amundsen, Chairman of the Conservative Party.” “In this neighboring seat here, His Excellency Foreign Minister Hiberg took his place.” With that, the Widow withdrew to the parlor, and the mustachioed butler who had arrived that morning stepped forward to elaborate. “Her Ladyship was positioned to His Highness’s left… at this very seat.” “Adjacent to her was His Excellency the British Ambassador, Mr. Stassen. His Lordship occupied this location… Yes, and the Young Madam was situated in that vicinity.” “I remained stationed in this area throughout.” “During the initial hors d’oeuvres service, I attended guests alongside the stewards over there. Once we progressed to Champagne, I relocated here.”

“I trust you are aware of the guests’ names?” “Yes, I have the guest list records in my possession.”

“Please have it brought to Her Ladyship’s presence later—I wish to inspect it.” “Understood.”

She proceeded to the antechamber where the guests had conversed and the grand corridor before the banquet hall. After turning through several more corridors, she was guided to the grand ballroom. These corridors were laid with expensive dark green Persian carpets and decorated here and there with settees, palm trees, and potted tropical plants such as agave.

The walls were adorned here and there with masterpieces of oil paintings and velvet-covered alcoves, while the grand dining hall, corridors, and grand ballroom all faced the inner courtyard lawn.

“Now then, could you also show me the safe for the time being?”

The Widow reappeared. “You’ve done enough. Go over there.”

And indeed, she likely did not wish even the butler to witness the act of opening the safe. The Widow herself heaved her bovine frame forward and took the lead. Turning at a right angle through the building they had just passed, they ascended the grand staircase to the second floor, where the door before them led to the former living quarters of the Widow’s late husband—the previous Duke Knud Drager, who had served as Minister of Commerce—preserved as it had been during his lifetime.

Adjacent on the right was the Widow’s parlor. Passing through the cluttered furnishings—daybeds, settees, armchairs, large desks—the far side revealed a thick wall carved into an arched shape, with a heavy drape trailing its hem. This was the Widow’s bedroom. To the right of the bed, facing the window, stood a large six-panel mirror.

And the wall diagonally behind the bed had been hollowed out by about a foot, inside which there was likely a heavily secured, steel-lined fireproof facility—or so it might have been. Moreover, identical wallpaper concealed the safe’s door, and a Chinese-made mother-of-pearl inlaid screen stood before it, making this a place utterly imperceptible to others. This was what the Widow called her safe—the hidden vault where she stored her jewels.

“Oh, do have a seat,” she indicated a chair in the parlor beyond the vaulted arch, “as there are a few things I wish to discuss.”

And so, with the Widow and her seated facing each other in those chairs, the interrogation began once more. "If I may be so bold, Madam—memory lapses can happen to anyone. Though you insist otherwise, is it not possible that the necklace was swapped within the safe without your notice... and that by the time you believed it genuine and put it on, it was already a counterfeit?"

“I will state this clearly as many times as needed: when I changed my attire and descended to the lower floor, it was unquestionably the genuine article.” “Because I’ve grown accustomed to it over the years, there’s absolutely no possibility of me misjudging it.” “From the time Madam descended to the lower floor until the guests’ departure—a mere four hours—the notion that the necklace you were wearing was swapped before their very eyes would constitute an inconceivable feat akin to magic under ordinary circumstances.” “After all, could it not have been swapped inside the safe?”

“I am absolutely certain，Miss Aines! “If your doubts have not yet been dispelled，shall I present you with a piece of evidence?”

Solving insoluble mysteries was exactly a detective’s duty, was it not! As if declaring this very thought, a derisive smirk surfaced on the Widow’s lips.

“Once again, please come this way.”

Once again, they entered behind the screen in the bedroom. When the safe door—matching the wallpaper in color—was opened, another sturdy steel door could be seen within. “Now listen, Miss Aines! “There’s nothing amiss up to this point.” “However, once someone lays a hand on this inner door, it’s electrified—so a mechanism has been set up to cause bells to ring out simultaneously in six locations across this mansion.” “However, this much I cannot disclose to you—where it is located.”

A sly hue flashed across the Widow’s face. “In one of these two rooms lies a switch that only I know of.” “When I retrieve or store items, I turn off that switch before opening the door, so the bells absolutely do not ring.” “Are you satisfied now?” “To this day, there has not been a single instance where the bells in this mansion rang and caused a commotion.”

I did not take her words entirely at face value, but when she insisted so vehemently, I had no choice but to tentatively accept her claim for now. Though the safe showed no particular signs of having been pried open, I would at least obtain permission to apply fingerprint detection powder to its door. In any case, taking the Widow’s account at face value would mean that the hundred-million-kroner necklace she wore around her neck while entertaining those distinguished guests had transformed into worthless glass beads before the very eyes of the assembled company—a feat so utterly preposterous that Miss Aines now shifted her line of questioning.

“When you viewed the counterfeit… Though it’s indistinguishable at a glance from the surface, in minute details—such as how tightly the clasp was fastened on the back or how the glass was set—did you not feel that only someone intimately familiar with the treasure could have crafted such a replica?” One might describe the Widow’s laughter as “Ohohohoho,” but this haughty lady—a woman of such imposing stature that she could put men to shame—produced a booming, androgynous guffaw that rang out as “Ohoahaha!”

“Ohoahaha! This counterfeit wasn’t crafted with such meticulous care, Miss Aines! As it was when the esteemed guests were present, I was rather occupied, but under normal circumstances, I would have noticed immediately. It’s merely something thrown together in an hour.” What’s the point of a detective nitpicking over such trivialities? You do have a solid lead on the culprit! Her cheeks openly displayed an irritation that all but declared as much.

“Then, regarding the difference between the genuine article and the counterfeit… Are you suggesting that even someone who had seen you wearing it just once or twice could craft a replica to such a degree?”

“That is correct.” “If something with considerable weight generally resembles [the original]… wouldn’t one need to have held it in their own hands at least once to gauge it properly?”

“That may be so. However, a counterfeit of this caliber could be whipped up immediately if one were to take it in hand and examine it. It’s merely a crude imitation based on superficial observation.” “Madam, do you happen to know the names of those who have expressed interest in viewing the necklace up until today? Just the names of those who have taken it in their hands and viewed it would suffice, but…” “Well, that…”

And the Widow was perplexed. “That we possess such an item has been widely known among esteemed circles, so a great many individuals have expressed their desire to view it up until today and have been granted the opportunity.” “...for instance, Prime Minister Schlegel and Foreign Minister Hiberg have done so, and more recently, His Excellency the Spanish Ambassador Espinel has also taken it in his hands to examine.” Surely you cannot expect us to suspect those people? Her tone dripped with mockery, as though declaring just that.

“With so many people involved, recalling them all is no simple matter.” “Then, later will suffice—please take your time to recall and kindly inform me.” “...In any case, what can be inferred from this counterfeit is—”

After pondering at length, she said.

“Given that such a meticulous culprit would not carelessly create a slipshod counterfeit—it leads me to conclude that either this perpetrator lacks knowledge of even the minutest details of the genuine article, or else crafted it intending that you wouldn’t notice its falsity until after your esteemed guests had departed—or at least not while they were still present.” “It seems to me this culprit possesses such confidence in their position that they are not of ordinary standing.”

“Th-that’s… That’s right, exactly as you say—as one would expect of a detective.” As if her will had finally been understood for the first time, this strong-willed Widow nodded so vigorously she might as well have clapped her hands.

“And that’s precisely why we have something to discuss with you as well, you see.” “As we mentioned earlier, there is a confidential consultation to be had.” “However, we must insist that this information remains strictly for your reference—confined to this occasion alone—with absolutely no disclosure tolerated, you see.” she lowered her voice.

“You are aware of who served as His Majesty’s deputy last night, are you not?” The young lady nodded. “Given your profession, you must naturally be aware that there are quite a number of rumors surrounding His Highness Prince Philip?” she pressed again. The young lady nodded once more. “Even if he is His Royal Highness the Prince, we did not invite someone shrouded in such vile rumors out of our own volition.” “Yet when His Majesty the King’s deputy graces us with his presence, how could we possibly refuse?” “And then this incident occurs!” “What do you make of this situation?”

“……” “Without solid evidence, we would never dream of suspecting His Highness.” “Yet His Highness now stands at the heart of these dreadful rumors swirling about him.” “If His Highness were to visit and our necklace were to vanish so mysteriously—what would you make of that?” “Miss Aines.”

“……”

Prince Philip and the Great Phantom Thief

It was an undeniable fact that sinister clouds had gathered around His Highness. To put it bluntly, His Royal Highness Prince Philip was a formidable phantom thief—and not some common criminal targeting mere ten- or twenty-million-krone treasures.

Rumors had taken root among a certain stratum of the aristocracy and plutocracy that His Royal Highness was a phantom thief of terrifying repute—a being of phantom-like elusiveness who never revealed his true form, targeting only the rarest gems worth tens of millions, even hundreds of millions of kroner from distinguished families and tycoons. Moreover, since those spreading these rumors were not the general populace but rather an exclusive aristocratic and plutocratic class that prized tradition and status, the rumors neither flared up abruptly nor died out completely; instead, they lingered like a campfire’s smoldering embers, hissing and sputtering as they smoked on endlessly.

Indeed, if it were His Highness—concealed within the folds of royal authority and observing everything from an elevated vantage point—a counterfeit that would escape notice for mere hours might have sufficed. There may have been no need to craft such an elaborate replica, yet to fix suspicion solely upon His Highness—a prince enveloped in dubious rumors—simply because he appeared at the scene, without a single shred of evidence, was nothing short of utter recklessness.

If criminal investigations could be resolved through such simplistic reasoning, there would be no need to summon a detective at all; by the same token, detectives would have no need for qualities like discernment or sound judgment. Then again—if it were His Highness—how exactly would he have stolen the necklace from someone’s neck and replaced it with a counterfeit? Even if one posed this question, the Widow would surely be incapable of answering. Since society’s rumors dictated her assumptions, she could offer no response beyond parroting them. Setting aside further conversation with this Widow—whose willfulness and emotionality exceeded most—she first needed to gather concrete evidence.

“Shall I go inspect the remaining parts of the mansion I haven’t seen yet?” As the young lady pondered this, the Widow leaned forward even more imposingly. Her voice grew even lower. “On one occasion, His Highness expressed a desire to see that necklace and graced us with a visit.” “When last night’s incident occurred, it suddenly came to mind.”

It was an early afternoon on a certain clear autumn day, about five or six months prior. His Highness had come for a drive to Kita Namiki-dori and stopped by upon passing your residence. Accompanying him was a maid of twenty-two or twenty-three—less striking in classical beauty than she was elegantly graceful, enough to be mistaken for an actress. When His Royal Highness the Prince paid his visit, the Drager Duke family welcomed him with every courtesy, but during their conversation—as if suddenly recalling—he remarked, “Ah yes, I believe your household possesses that renowned necklace known as the Sea Serpent.” “Madam, I have seen it adorning you,” he continued, “but have yet to hold it even once.” “Truly, it seems a rare treasure indeed.” “Would you not show it to me?” Such were His Highness’s words.

Without hesitation, she promptly retrieved and presented it to His Highness, but what she showed him at that time was not limited to the necklace alone. They also took out and presented items passed down since the Egmund Dynasty—a golden longsword, shield, halberd, and such—for His Highness to view. It could not be assumed that His Highness had his eyes fixed solely on the necklace either. He had often viewed it at public events—holding up the Sea Serpent Necklace to sunlight, laughing as he draped it over a maid’s neck—but this marked his first time actually grasping it. The luster, the form—truly a masterpiece surpassing what he’d heard! Though one must say antiquities do weigh rather heavily! His Highness exclaimed in admiration. And since you’ve gone to the trouble, she earnestly urged His Highness to stay and relax—perhaps even join them for dinner—but having dropped by unannounced without any forewarning, he glanced at his maid and remarked that causing such a commotion was never his intention. “Well then,” he proposed, “shall we take a stroll around Swan Pond before departing?” Having declared this, His Highness took his leave.

At the time, I had thought nothing of it—but now, upon reflection, could it be that His Highness had already set his sights on this necklace back then, preparing a counterfeit and biding his time in secret? Such was the Widow’s thought. “Moreover, upon considering it now, that maid from that time strikes me as quite a suspicious character.”

With that, the Widow lowered her voice even further. "You are aware, are you not, that while His Highness has been betrothed to Princess Annemarie for nearly a year now, the newspapers have been making quite a stir over the absence of any formal wedding plans?"

“I am aware of that.”

When she saw the nod, the Widow’s eyes flashed with a knowing look.

“You see?” “That’s precisely why I’m convinced that maid from that time is the culprit.” “There’s some fateful connection there, I tell you.” “Though I cannot speak of this aloud, I am considering whether that very maid might not be His Highness’s secret mistress.”

The heavy curtain caught the gentle breeze and swayed. “That His Highness could create such a counterfeit after merely holding it once defies common sense. Yet if we follow the rumors circulating in society, he must possess considerable talent in that very field to specifically target jewels as he does. …Surely this must be of great relevance to your investigation?” “What do you think, Miss Aines?”

Moreover, not only that—she added this as well. “You are aware of the necklace and bracelet theft that occurred at the Grüne Bjorge Residence in October of last year, are you not?” When she saw the young lady nod once more in acknowledgment, “There—doesn’t that make everything perfectly clear?”

The eyes in her plump face took on an increasingly uncanny gleam. “At the Bjorge Residence back then, they immediately reported it to both the National Police Bureau and the City Police Department, bringing in detectives from both sides… Yet all they achieved was a spectacular uproar—the crucial item never surfaced, did it? They were utterly thrown into disarray.” “Catching robbers or handling murder cases is one thing, but how could lower-ranking detectives—no matter how much noise they make—possibly recover such an item?!” “That’s precisely where a woman—a beautiful lady—must be employed.” “While a lack of brains would be problematic, a sharp-witted and beautiful lady should try approaching His Highness dressed in fine attire.” “No matter how clever someone may be, men and the like are surprisingly fragile, you know.”

And with that, the Widow cut off her speech.

“You do understand, don’t you? Miss Aines! That is why we have chosen to entrust this matter solely to you without reporting it to any authorities.” She stared fixedly at the young lady’s face, testing the effect of her words. A quiet minute or two passed. “You see, even with wealth alone, we are not upstarts like the Bjorges. We have connections to the royal family—we cannot risk reckless commotion. We wish to retrieve what was lost without staining His Highness’s reputation.”

It was a suggestion couched in the polished rhetoric characteristic of high society—on one hand dismissing female detectives as unreliable while paradoxically deeming their gender advantageous; laced with condescending remarks and ostentatious displays of royal connections; all while sharpening claws of pretense and malice beneath a glittering façade. If she kept fixating suspicion solely on Prince Philip and the stolen goods never surfaced, what on earth would this woman concoct next? Miss Aines couldn’t suppress a bitter smile.

In any case, she promised to do her utmost to align with the Widow’s wishes as much as possible. However, should the stolen goods be smuggled abroad, strict surveillance of clandestine exports at border stations and ports would necessitate relying solely on national authorities. For this reason, she advised this archetypal grand noble widow to confidentially and urgently request arrangements exclusively through the National Police Bureau. Once again, she checked the distance from the window to the ground and whether there were any traces of someone having climbed up there. And she scrutinized every point—the floor around the hidden safe, the entrance door to this chamber—but there remained absolutely no traces of the culprit having entered from outside.

Assistant Aage had stationed himself in a room adjacent to the antechamber some time ago and was investigating last night’s servants’ oral accounts. The other assistant, Ebbe, was likely standing and crouching beneath the window while looking up at the second floor, searching for something like the culprit’s footprints. Waving her hand at Ebbe, she called out, “Come up here!” Having informed him, they decided to inspect the previously unchecked areas of the mansion together.

Having said her piece, the Widow retreated to her bedroom for her customary afternoon nap, while the mustached butler guided them through each second-floor room down to the basement level. The second floor had a total of sixteen rooms: the current Duke’s study… living room… the young Duchess’s living room… bedroom… and at the far end, which turned south at a right angle after a considerable distance, there was the room of Johannes—the sixteen-year-old boy known as “Young Master,” younger brother to the Duke. After finishing viewing each one, they descended to the downstairs. The downstairs contained eight rooms: besides the reception room they had been led through earlier, there was another small parlor, a billiard room across from it, and a music room lined with pianos and violins... Nothing particularly noteworthy stood out anywhere.

From the Grand Staircase, crossing the dimly lit central corridor and passing beneath the large Roman-style dome led one to the Hall. However, simultaneously turning sharply at a right angle from beneath that Grand Staircase and following the small staircase allowed one to also reach the basement. That basement… Here too, the ceiling was high, rivaling the upper floors in splendor. Both sides laid with Saracen-patterned Zouga weave were surrounded by innumerable maids’ rooms, menservants’ rooms, a butler’s room, tutors’ rooms, and more.

Likely due to being built by the grandfather of the previous Duke Drager—who had served as Prime Minister—upon the ruins of Mirdal Castle’s ancient inner keep, this mansion’s exterior adopted a modern Gothic style while retaining abundant elements reminiscent of Mirdal’s bygone era, its underground passageways intersecting like a labyrinth. “You will also exit from this side.”

The tunnel passageway lined with exposed Kibira stone, which the butler had guided them through, turned right and left, intersected with side passages twice or thrice, narrowed into a spiral staircase, and abruptly emerged into a room adjacent to the antechamber. In the room across from here, Aage was now summoning each servant one by one for questioning. “This must have been the attendants’ waiting room during the previous lord’s time.” “Last night, His Highness’s attendants were stationed here.”

said the butler.

“Are they maids?” When she asked, “No, they were all men.” “One was His Highness’s deputy, but since that gentleman had proceeded to the banquet hall, three household staff members remained stationed here.” “Until His Highness returned, what exactly were those people doing while waiting?” “Well… When I had meals brought to them, they were all playing shogi.”

After going to Aage’s location and assisting with the servants’ questioning for a while, Miss Aines alone then decided to have the car driven to the president’s office of the Danish Agricultural Corporation near Coast Road to meet Duke Henrik, the family head. The twenty-five-year-old Duke-President was—like his young wife—unhurried and composed: magnanimous, elegant, refined; or put less kindly, withered like an old man despite his youth. Youth was not something one would even wish to bottle as medicine.

After asking two or three questions about His Highness’s movements last night, she concluded her inquiries. In any case, with this, she finished tonight’s work. The rest can wait until tomorrow... I should hurry home and help Mother with dinner! As she had the car driven from Vester Street toward Emperor Street, the city lights flickering through the evening haze brought vivid memories of the Bjorge Residence Incident flooding back. The Widow’s earlier words—"Even with all their money, they’re just upstarts"—and now this theft at Mr. Gurune Bjorge’s residence she had just mentioned!

Bjorge Residence Incident The rumors that Prince Philip, the royal brother, had come to be whispered as a phantom thief did not, of course, stem solely from the Bjorge family incident. Such whispers had drifted about sporadically even before that, but it was with the Bjorge Incident that they gained significant momentum. Of course, this does not mean the young lady herself was involved in the case. As the Dowager Duchess had earlier stated, the incident was immediately reported to both the National Police Bureau and City Police Department, where detectives swarmed in to mount a large-scale investigation. Yet all their efforts proved futile as the case sank into a labyrinthine dead end; to this day, not only does the culprit remain unidentified, but even the whereabouts of the stolen necklace and bracelet have stayed shrouded in obscurity.

Around that time, she had been strolling through Kongens Nytorv Square and happened to encounter Mr. Belgrand Hartuan, her late father’s very close acquaintance. Mr. Hartuan served as the Copenhagen District Prosecutor; while he had not directly handled the investigation of the case himself, as a senior figure in the prosecution authorities, he was in a position to receive exhaustive reports on the incident down to the minutest detail. Therefore,

“Oh! What’s up, Miss? Long time no see. Care to join me for tea?” Having been tapped on the shoulder, if they entered a nearby restaurant—being a detective and prosecutor—their conversation would naturally shift to the Bjorge Incident now causing a stir. “You may think this an un-detective-like question, Uncle...” Just as this prosecutor uncle playfully called her “Miss,” she too called him “Uncle” in turn.

“Well? Uncle, do you still think the culprit is Prince Philip?”

When she posed the question,

“Good heavens! That’s a frightfully straightforward question!”

Uncle burst into laughter.

“If you’re going to ask questions like that, then perhaps I’ll give an answer unbefitting a prosecutor, shall I? Unfortunately, I too have a premonition that it might indeed be the case. It would be odd for the prosecutor handling the case to propose reckless measures now that it’s become such a labyrinth.”

Taking advantage of the absence of people around, he lowered his voice and proceeded to explain the detailed sequence of events.

This also occurred at the residence of Mr. Gurune Bjorge—president of Nordisk Automobile Manufacturing Company and one of Denmark’s wealthiest individuals—during a commemorative evening party for his tenth wedding anniversary (a tin wedding anniversary) held in early October last year. The guest of honor was His Highness Prince Sven Philip, and an invitation had also been extended to Her Highness Princess Ingeborg; however, the Princess declined to attend due to her scheduled visit to the President of Iceland. The guests numbered over two hundred… As the banquet concluded, it transitioned to a ball. As the orchestra played, the entire hall danced wildly like butterflies through a Nordic late autumn night.

After dancing polkas and quadrilles, Mrs. Ellen had begun to feel slightly tired since earlier. Like at the Duke’s mansion, the ballroom doors here too stood thrown open toward the spacious inner courtyard. Standing in the shadow of those doors as she drank the cold beverage a waiter had brought and caught her breath, she suddenly sensed a presence beside her and straightened her posture with a start. The one standing there with a smile was His Highness Prince Philip. His Highness was twenty-seven years old—his fair forehead and flaxen hair cascading coolly, his tall frame with piercing eyes—this unmarried visage being the object of admiration for all Danish maidens. There His Highness stood, amiably clad in the resplendent military attire of a light-green dragoon captain’s uniform complete with shoulder epaulets and sash.

“Madam, may I have the honor of your company?” “Ha! You honor me, Your Highness.” Mrs. Ellen grabbed the hem of her skirt and bowed politely.

“Then, if you please…”

And, with her hand taken by His Highness, she entered into the whirl of the dance. The orchestra had already changed to a heart-lifting piece—*Tales from the Vienna Woods*. Born a woman, to dance with the man all Danish maidens admire—what an honor! With her face pressed against his manly chest, several entranced minutes drifted by. For the first time in a while, the blood in the Madam’s chest stirred with youthful vigor. Those dreamlike minutes of rejuvenation drifted by once more.

Mrs. Ellen suddenly felt a slight dizziness. It wasn’t that her head particularly hurt. Nor was she losing consciousness. It was as if everything around her had grown hazy—as though she were lying on the lawn in the garden—the music and the dancers around her seeming to recede into the distance... only to suddenly surge back to life with renewed vigor. The hand encircling her waist, the hand lightly holding hers... His Highness showed no particular change in demeanor. His Highness maintained his amiable smile and continued executing flawless arcs across the floor in time with the music.

And in that instant, the orchestra and the wave of dancing receded once more. What in the world is happening? she thought. It wasn’t that she felt unwell, but she grew concerned she might commit some impropriety toward His Highness. “Oh? Is something the matter?”

His Highness keenly noticed and whispered. “Your complexion seems rather unwell...” “Ha—it’s nothing serious, really...” At that moment, His Highness’s face grew distant once more. “…Sometimes I… feel somewhat… hazy…”

“That won’t do. It’s quite warm tonight—perhaps it has caused you to become flushed. Now then, let us make our way over there. Getting a bit of night air should do you good.”

And, continuing to whirl through the waltz, His Highness skillfully guided her out of the dance circle, gradually leading her toward the exit. On either side of the door facing the inner courtyard, benches had been arranged where guests awaiting their turn to dance engaged in lively conversation. She thought she might have returned the nods of acquaintances among the ladies—or perhaps she hadn’t. With her hand in His Highness’s, she stepped across the cobblestones and onto the dew-dampened lawn. A large beech tree spread its dense canopy of branches and leaves, beneath whose shade two or three benches stood placed. She remembered settling onto an unoccupied bench—but as for whether His Highness had spoken… that part of her memory remained unclear.

“Now then, Madam—this should suit you here. “You should rest here for a while.” And His Highness also took a seat beside her.

“I am terribly sorry for this unexpected imposition...”

The cold night air, filling the vast sky with glittering stars, touched her heated cheeks with inexpressible pleasantness. From this vantage point, watching the people dancing under dazzling lights gave her the sensation of peering into another world—something like shadow puppetry or a single frame from a film. She could not remember whether a minute had passed or two. But her condition had gradually improved. A faint throbbing pulsed at the core of her head, and her palms grew clammy with sweat—just like that time she had suffered from cerebral anemia. Moment by moment, she was regaining her freshness. When she suddenly noticed, His Highness was standing before her. His Highness was holding a cup in each hand...

“Madam, please drink this and remain still for a while longer. Rest here like that for a while.” “Oh, to have gone so far as to show me such kindness… I am terribly sorry.”

His Highness, still standing, downed his drink in one gulp. The cold fruit juice stung her teeth, reviving her spirits. After that, for some time, it seemed His Highness had remained seated. "You seem much recovered now—your complexion has improved considerably. ...No, stay as you are... You mustn't stand yet." His Highness waved his hand. "Now then, if you'll rest here, I shall inform your husband."

His Highness muttered as if to himself and stood up. "Oh, please, Your Highness, you need not trouble yourself any further—I am truly quite all right now… Please, do not concern yourself on my account."

At that moment, her heart was filled solely with the thought that she must not spoil the guests' hard-won merriment with such a trivial matter. It wasn't as if she had particularly been waiting for her husband to come. Nor could she say she hadn't been waiting at all. However, no matter how long she waited, there was no sign of her husband coming... no, not just her husband—he too! After that, His Highness never showed himself again.

By then, having fully recovered her composure, the Madam had returned to the midst of people’s conversations; following along the ballroom and turning right down the long corridor led to the waiting room. In that corner stood the orchestra amidst various potted plants with lush foliage. At the back of this area, a group including Minister of Shipping Gyerappu, Finance Minister Bangu, Mr. Schulenbach—president of the Bethlehem Steel Company visiting from abroad—and Ambassador Vertner to France on home leave remained standing, cigars in hand and wine glasses raised as they laughed boisterously. The conversation seemed to have blossomed into tales of Southern African hunts—her husband stood nearby laughing, his portly frame clutching a wine glass... but what made the Madam widen her eyes was His Highness himself at the center of that laughter, smiling as he lifted his glass.

As if not noticing the Madam’s approach—or perhaps he had noticed after all—His Highness watched her with a gentle smile. But how astonishing! This was not the same kindness of His Highness who had been tending to her on the shaded bench until moments ago, even bringing her a cold drink. As for informing her husband—there had been nothing of the sort! Wearing an expression of perfect innocence, he sat as though he had been this gathering’s center all along, with no connection whatsoever to the Madam.

Before that innocent smile of His Highness, the Madam stood dumbfounded. Having timed it so that the Minister of Shipping, the Finance Minister, the steel company president, and the ambassador—each with their partners in tow—entered the dance,

“Your Highness, I must apologize for my unexpected rudeness earlier...”

and she approached.

“Thanks to you, I have completely recovered—I am truly grateful.”

The moment she expressed her gratitude, the Madam who had spoken found herself unable to back down.

“Huh—?”

As if startled, His Highness momentarily widened his eyes, but upon noticing bewilderment dart through the Madam’s eyes, “Ah, that’s quite all right. “That’s what matters most.”

His Highness hurriedly formed a smile and nodded. But that smile was nothing more than a perfunctory effort to match the Madam’s tone—a hollow gesture with no substance beyond forced words. Dumbfounded and feeling as if she’d been tricked by a fox, the Madam gazed at His Highness’s face—but was His Highness perhaps not in his right mind? And she simply couldn’t help but think exactly that. For a moment, she doubted her own eyes, wondering if she had mistaken him for someone else—but the tall military figure she now observed remained unchanged from earlier: the Dannebrog Commander’s Cross with its white cruciform emblem still adorned his chest, his gentle eyes… dignified mouth… clear voice… His Highness, who had shown such kindness until now, bore not the slightest difference. Whether viewed from the front or the side, he remained exactly as before—the genuine His Highness Prince Philip.

In any case, having fully regained her composure, the Madam—though tilting her head slightly—attended to the guests with lively dedication, ensuring the evening concluded successfully without causing any discomfort. But as for His Highness’s departure—had it occurred perhaps thirty or forty minutes before the guests began to withdraw? According to the Madam’s recollection, His Highness had danced only twice thereafter—once when requested by the Belgian Ambassador’s wife, and once more when Miss Astrid Annasen—the celebrated beauty and daughter of Jens Annasen, president of the Red Cross—asked him to partner her… she recalled these being the only two occasions.

“Your gracious hospitality has allowed me to spend a most agreeable evening.” “As I must serve as His Majesty’s royal representative tomorrow, I beg your pardon, but I shall take my leave now.” It was a courtly farewell. As the orchestra rose in unison, halting their music while the entire assembly stood frozen to bid him farewell, His Highness exchanged handshakes with the wives of high-ranking officials and distinguished guests before departing with his adjutant to the strains of the national anthem—yet throughout this ceremony, he offered no further remarks. The Bjorge couple accompanied him to the entrance for warm handshakes—but would he finally say something this time? Yet to the Madam, whose heart had quickened with expectation, not a single gracious word of concern was ever uttered.

The Madam had retired to her bedroom—it must have been around one or two o’clock by then.

The Widow of Duke Drager had noticed the difference in texture when removing it, but Mrs. Bjorge, too, noticed when taking hers off. Bracelet… then necklace… As she went to remove them, her hand casually reached out, but upon touching something with a texture entirely different from usual—oh!—she noticed. Because she had been wearing objects of similar weight around her neck and on her arms, she had felt no difference until she touched them—but now, upon removing them, though their appearance seemed exquisitely crafted, even with platinum settings… how astonishing! It was a crudely made counterfeit piece inlaid with glass that bore no resemblance to the original. She was gazing at it, resting on her palm. She was so shocked that she had even forgotten to let out a scream.

Unlike the Drager Duke family’s necklace, it was not an heirloom passed down through generations and thus bore no special name. Yet even so, as it consisted of large diamonds lavished with extravagance by a great tycoon who spared no expense, combining both pieces would likely amount to forty or fifty million kroner… perhaps even more in value.

Moreover, what surprised her was not just that. What chilled her to the bone even more was that a faint pain had begun to throb at the very core of her head that night. Was it simply fatigue from the banquet having concluded without incident? She thought it might be, but her body felt strangely sluggish throughout. It was when—just to be safe before retiring—she had called Dr. Hammel, her regular physician who always attended her, and had him examine her. As usual, Dr. Hammel, “It’s nothing serious, Madam. You must have risen too abruptly after a mild case of cerebral anemia.”

Without paying much attention, he checked her pulse and applied the stethoscope, when suddenly— A suspicious look flashed across his brow. “This is a bit strange,” he said. “Did you notice any unusual smell at the time? What kind of smell did you notice?”

He suddenly began formally questioning her about her symptoms.

“Did you experience a sensation as if you had lain down on the lawn?” “Hmm… Did you notice a grassy smell?” “...Hmm... Hmm... Madam, this—you detected an anesthetic at that time.” “A minor... an extremely minor amount of chloroethyl—you were exposed to it.”

She was surprised when he began conducting an even more thorough re-examination. Could it be that while she had been with him earlier, His Highness had administered the chloroethyl? Was it because of that anesthetic that she had smelled something grassy—like lying on a lawn—and her head had become so foggy? And while she had been leaning against the garden bench during those brief one or two minutes when His Highness feigned kindness—had he removed the necklace and bracelet, swiftly replacing them with counterfeits to avoid detection? First—how could His Highness have administered chloroethyl while dancing, with his right hand behind his back and left hand holding hers? …Yet after considering this, the Madam reasoned it wasn’t entirely impossible. His Highness was tall enough that she only reached his shoulder level. If His Highness had hidden chloroethyl in a rubber bulb within his breast pocket, he would remain unharmed while she alone inhaled the anesthetic released with each dance step.

But even if he could make her inhale an anesthetic, and even if she only remembered feeling dizzy, her consciousness had remained mostly clear—so by what method could he perform such a swift feat: removing the items from around her neck and wrist, then replacing them with similar ones in their stead? His Highness had already shared banquet tables with her two or three times and had even visited her residence once. During those occasions, had he observed her bracelets and necklaces and prepared convincing counterfeits in advance?

The very fact that she had admired His Highness more than anyone else until now made hatred seethe all the more violently in the Madam's heart at that instant. "Esther!"

She snarled through clenched teeth, stamping her feet furiously. “Call the National Police Bureau! Tell them we’ve been robbed this instant!” “And ring up the City Police Bureau right away!” “What are you dawdling for?!” “Move your feet, girl!” She barked at the maid. Upon receiving the alert from Bjorge residence, crack detectives from both the National Police Bureau and City Police Bureau descended posthaste. Given the suspect’s noble status, they mounted an investigation wrapped in secrecy within secrecy—yet not one shred of physical evidence could be unearthed.

“To take action against this person of noble standing requires amassing overwhelming evidence first.” “The more we investigate, the murkier it gets—half a year later, and it’s still left unresolved!”

With that, Uncle let out an exasperated sigh.

“But… what if it wasn’t His Highness at that time, but someone who looked exactly like him impersonating Prince Philip and interacting with Mrs. Bjorge? Didn’t anyone consider that possibility and investigate that angle more thoroughly?” “When they hear Prince Philip’s name, every young woman in Denmark turns pale—but you’re a great detective! You’re finally starting to look a bit green around the gills too, aren’t you!”

Uncle laughed derisively. “I don’t need you to tell me that. Of course I’ve taken all that into account and am investigating it thoroughly. Apparently, around that time, even the head of the Criminal Investigation Bureau had been saying the same sort of thing as you. But you claim there’s some mystery about a man who’s His Highness’s exact double—listen here, even if the ballroom was spacious, it was still the same room where His Highness himself was in attendance. It wasn’t a separate chamber. Do you truly believe a counterfeit in identical military uniform could materialize in the very room where His Highness was present and execute such sleight of hand? Isn’t that something beyond the realm of human imagination?”

“Crimes occur where human minds cannot even conceive, Uncle!”

She had understood this truth all along, but Miss Aines remained silent—for how could she possibly voice such words to Uncle, her father’s closest friend?

The details of the Bjorge Residence Incident that she had heard from Prosecutor Hartuan, her ‘Uncle,’ now rose unbidden to the young lady’s mind as she rode in the car.

Johannes, the boy

Indeed, the case presented extraordinary difficulties from the very beginning. The more they investigated, the more chaotic it became, and they could grasp no leads. They conducted a thorough examination, but no differing fingerprints emerged from the counterfeit necklace. Of course, no fingerprints whatsoever were detected on the door of the hidden safe either.

If that were the case, then the testimonies of the servants from that night would hold a crucial key to the case.

However, even the testimonies of those servants—or rather, in this case, they should be called family—showed significant discrepancies in every detail. First and foremost, regarding one of those major discrepancies… That evening, did Madam perhaps retire to a separate room due to feeling unwell, or did she suddenly collide with someone upon turning a corner? In response to this inquiry, the Widow denied every single one. She seemed particularly offended by the final question—as though revolted by such an indecent implication! With that, she didn’t even deign to offer a proper reply. This aligned with what she had previously stated; however, upon investigation, far from encountering no one, that very night, the Widow had been seated knee-to-knee with a boy on a bench behind the antechamber, deep in conversation.

The boy in question was Johannes—a sixteen-year-old child and the current Duke’s younger brother—who, having sprained his ankle a mere four or five days prior (an injury that hadn’t impeded his walking but had left him reliant on a cane), had refrained from attending that evening’s banquet. Instead, he’d secluded himself in his second-floor room at the southern end of the mansion, devoting himself wholeheartedly to crafting model airplanes—a hobby currently taking Copenhagen’s youth by storm. The current Duke had stated that he had seen their mother conversing with their younger brother on a bench in the corner—and the Duchess had likewise testified to this.

The maids Merta, Elizabeth, and Mariya—and others—though unaware of what was discussed—there were as many as three servants who claimed to have seen Her Ladyship conversing with Young Master Johannes. Particularly one of them—a maid named Edith—had clearly testified that she saw Young Master Johannes wrapping both hands around Her Ladyship’s neck and kissing her. This was something that should have served as a major turning point in the case.

The timing was just before the dining hall was about to open, when the music had just begun and the crowd was at its peak—so of course, this was when Madam had already changed into her evening gown and was wearing the Sea Serpent Necklace in question. Since there was no evidence that anyone else had approached the Widow, Miss Aines naturally attached great importance to this fact.

“Madam! I understand you were conversing with Young Master Johannes—would you kindly describe that occasion in detail?” “Miss Aines, this concerns Johannes! How could my chat with a mere child possibly aid your investigation?” “But I must insist on hearing it...!”

“How utterly absurd—a parent merely speaking with their child…”

As was her custom, the Widow displayed a look of displeasure. “Instead of wasting time scrutinizing such nonsense, why aren’t you devising a way to approach Your Highness?!” Prompting this capricious woman—who seemed poised to press further—what the young lady managed to glean was roughly as follows.

The current Duke, the Duchess, Baroness Solveig—the niece of Viscount Andersen who had come to assist—along with her mother Mrs. From, and all these individuals were welcoming guests at the hall entrance. By then, every last guest had already flooded the great hall and antechambers to capacity; jovial conversation and laughter intertwined with tobacco smoke hung thickly in the air, and chaos reigned both inside and outside the mansion. To elaborate further, His Highness the Prince Regent had also arrived earlier and was in a whirlwind of hosting duties at that very moment.

Threading through the crowd with his cane—seemingly searching for his mother—the face of Johannes, the young boy, became visible at the entrance. In height he nearly matched the current Duke, but remained a child who had only just begun wearing long Western-style trousers. As he hadn’t been expected to attend, his clothes remained unchanged. Though properly attired in a short coat and tie—his school uniform—his limping gait and cane made him an incongruous figure amidst these resplendently dressed guests.

“What on earth are you doing dressed like that!” “What do you want?”

The Widow came rushing out, still holding the bouquet she had just received.

"I... Mother... I have a request." Though that area too was swarming with people, turning slightly down the grand corridor revealed a recess. Rather than a mere recess, it was more accurately an alcove—a small window cut into the wall with curtains hung, oil paintings adorning the space, potted plants arranged about, and a velvet-upholstered bench provided seating. In the corner, a group of ladies were laughing merrily, but the alcove stood empty. “That’s unacceptable—coming out dressed like that!” “What do you want? Mother is busy!”

And the Widow sat down there. The boy also sat down—so close their knees nearly touched.

“Mother! There’s still something missing—I absolutely must buy another motor! I need more money—the money’s all gone!” “What nonsense are you spouting now?! It can wait until later!” “No! It’s nearly done! If I just install the motor, I can take it to school tomorrow! Please—about ten thousand kroner. ...I’ll have Sara go buy it.”

“Is Her Ladyship not present?”

Just then, the maid Edith came searching. “Um... Her Ladyship... Young Madam is calling for you...”

The banquet was about to commence at last. Being in a hurry, she couldn’t clearly recall Johannes’s words… She remembered him saying he needed another engine… Had he mentioned sending Sara to buy it? Or had he not?… “Now, now, Mother is busy—I can’t keep entertaining you! Even if you say that now, I don’t have anything here! Go to Yūwan and have him give it to you, since Mother said so.”

Yūwan was the mustachioed butler in question. “Alright then, I’ll do that! Mother, thank you, thank you… You really were my mother after all!” Happily, the boy wrapped both arms around the Widow’s neck and hugged her. And he kissed her cheek…

“There, there—oh dear, you’ll muss my hair! That’s enough, that’s enough—I understand…”

When he opened the door at the end, there was a staircase leading to the second floor without needing to pass through the guests. “Thank you… thank you, Mother!”

And the boy’s face smiled from beyond the dimly lit door.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the dining hall is now open. Please proceed!” Yūwan’s voice could be heard. The lively sound of orchestral music struck their ears. She had to hurry and attend to His Highness the Prince Regent. The Widow then hurried straight to the antechamber where His Highness was waiting...

This was the reluctant account I had managed to extract from the Widow, her face twisted in bitterness. "I must ask something impertinent—at that time, did you notice anything unusual about Young Master Johannes?" "...Not particularly..." "Another thing... Then, does Young Master Johannes often do such things? At such times... does he come to ask for pocket money...?"

“In our household, we do not give children such a thing as ‘pocket money’. When something is needed, each and every time, we send a servant to purchase it. He could have simply told the butler, but I suppose he came to seek my permission first, considering the expense was significant.”

“Allotting a fixed sum each month as pocket money and budgeting it to buy things—that’s the habit of commoners!” Her answer practically buzzed with unspoken contempt, as if declaring, “That’s the habit of commoners!” “Given your profession, Miss Aines! But Johannes is our child—isn’t it rather misplaced for you to pry into such matters?”

The focus... The focus... That focus was off! As if declaring this outright, the Widow’s temple twitched, forcing me to temporarily halt our questioning there.

Having timed it to coincide with the boy’s return from school,

“Young Master, Auntie has brought you a nice souvenir.”

And so, around noon the following day, Miss Aines visited Young Johannes’s room bearing an exquisite gasoline engine for model airplanes—a custom-made product from Kenyon Company. The boy had once again transformed his surroundings into something resembling a machine shop, strewn with parts as he focused intently on component assembly. Startled by both the unexpected visitor and unanticipated gift, he flushed crimson with bewilderment, his hands continuing to fidget nervously even as they moved.

According to the Widow’s account, it had seemed that attaching the engine alone would allow completion even today, but there was still no sign of progress reaching that point. Indeed, having invested tens of thousands of kroner and devoted such efforts to its creation—though called a model—its wingspan measured nearly one and a half meters across, and it seemed capable of effortlessly flying some five miles—a toy of exquisite craftsmanship. “What kind of airplane are you working on now, Young Master?”

“…………” “It resembles a German passenger plane, but isn’t it different?” “Lufthansa’s wings attach from here... I’m making a Swedish passenger plane.” “Ah yes—it was Scandia, wasn’t it? My, how exquisitely crafted.” “Auntie, when did you begin coming to the house?” After a brief pause, the boy asked curiously. “Auntie isn’t part of your household, Young Master. Have you heard? Something went missing at your home—I’ve come to investigate it.”

“……Ah… the necklace…”

“Well, that’s how it is.” “…But there’s something important in your house, isn’t there?” “Auntie has come to look for it, but Young Master—have you heard the details of that story?” “I don’t know!” “It has nothing to do with me…”

The boy shook his head.

“Well, it seems you have nothing to do with it, Young Master.” “Oh, right—next time I come, I’ll bring you something nice again, Young Master. What do you need?” “More airplane tools, I suppose?” He was a child who might as well have declared through his vigorous growth, “Look how I’ve thrived!” His large frame made him notably tall for his age, giving him an adult-like stature. “I don’t need it.” “If I take something from a stranger, I get scolded.”

“Auntie is different—since Auntie was asked by your mother to handle this matter, I won’t be scolded... But never mind that! Let’s wait until Auntie brings something, then. Rather than that—though I’d forgotten—Young Master, are your feet already better? I heard you didn’t go out the other day. Were you making that airplane...?”

“That’s how it came to be finished so perfectly!”

And across the boy’s cheeks spread a look of triumph. “But… can I buy the engine? “But you went to Mother’s place, didn’t you? “Has that engine already been installed?” “It’s already been installed!” “That’s why I ended up laughing so much! “It’s not just Mother! Even though I’ve had the engine all along, Brother and Sister-in-law too… Mariya and Edith—everyone keeps saying such stupid things! So I told Miss Regine they’ve all lost their minds, and we’ve been laughing our heads off!”

The boy laughed and gave a shrug.

Miss Regine was the elderly governess who had assisted the boy late into that night. "So… then you didn’t go to your mother’s place to discuss the engine or anything like that, did you?" "I didn’t go! I already have it, so there’s no reason I’d go!"

Thus what the Widow had solemnly affirmed—what even the current Duke and Duchess, along with numerous servants including Merta, Elisabeth, Mariya, and Edith, had clearly witnessed—was here completely overturned. “I didn’t take a single step outside my room—didn’t even go to the main dining hall. Lovisa brought it here, and I ate it with Miss Regine—Lovisa knows all about it, you know.”

Lovisa was the housemaid who had brought the meal here that night. “Well, it’s no wonder you find it laughable, Young Master—what on earth is everyone talking about? Ohohohoho!”

She had casually matched his tone, but upon seeing that the boy had grown considerably more at ease, she shifted her approach here.

“But perhaps among your friends, Young Master, someone might have imitated such a thing and played a prank? Do all your friends make airplanes?” “Everyone’s making them—British passenger planes, jets, Scandias—they’re all churning them out like crazy!” “Among them, is there a friend who makes them better than you, Young Master?”

If one simply steers them in a way that pleases the child, they will adapt without difficulty. “I’m the best at it… but maybe Gael’s a bit better than me?” “Among your friends, Young Master, is there any mischievous child who would startle everyone by imitating you—going to your mother to ask for pocket money like that?” “All my friends are scared of Mother, so none of them would dare say a word.”

"But… once in a while, there must be such mischievous children, don’t you think?" "There isn’t a single idiot like that!"

In the end, the boy burst out laughing. “First of all, Mother’s got those big, bulging eyes and acts all twitchy—she’s so terrifying there’s not a single person who’d dare go near her!” “Well… mischievous children exist everywhere… but then, Young Master, you’re saying there aren’t any such troublemakers among your friends…?”

The boy nodded.

She tried changing direction once more. “By the way, Young Master… do you like Miss Regine?” “Of course I do!” “Is Miss Regine strict?” “She’s strict with studies, but she plays with me when it’s time to play—I love her!” “Young Master, you wouldn’t tell lies… but if you did, would she be strict?”

“I don’t know… Since that’s never happened before, I don’t know…” “Oh dear… Talking with you, Young Master, is so entertaining that I carelessly stayed far too long in your room.” “Forgive me… Then next time I visit, I’ll bring something nice for you.”

So she left the boy’s room—but whether this child was one to tell lies or not, it was only natural that she immediately went to visit the homeroom teacher at the middle school he attended. “That boy’s academic performance is quite average; there’s nothing particularly outstanding about it. That said, he is by no means on the side of being incapable… but rather, that boy carries himself with an aristocratically calm and unhurried air in all matters. There is not a trace in him of such twisted nature or sharp-witted tendencies as would lead one to tell lies. Indeed, blood will tell. In that regard, I consider him to possess the quintessential qualities expected of a child from such a prestigious family.”

This was the homeroom teacher’s observation. Given this, one could place full confidence in young Johannes’s claim that he had not taken a single step outside his room that night. But if one were to place trust in the boy, how then should one interpret the testimonies of the Widow—who insists he came to seek permission to purchase an engine, showering her with “Thank you, Mother!” while embracing her neck and planting kisses—alongside those of the current Duke and Duchess and other servants?

Two Princes and Two Boys

Moreover, the discrepancies were not limited to the Widow and Johannes. Another discrepancy had emerged. However, this was less a discrepancy than it might have been more accurate to say that a single mysterious witness had appeared. Among the twenty-five servants in total—butlers, housemaids, chambermaids, bellboys, manservants, and others—eighteen housemaids, bellboys, and manservants had been present in the guest quarters that night… Yet not a single one of those eighteen made any such claim; only a nineteen-year-old housemaid named Lovisa insisted she had indeed seen Prince Philip descending from the second floor of the main building.

The Widow, of course, along with the current Duke, the Duchess, the butler, and the other servants, dismissed Lovisa’s claims as utter nonsense. As the royal representative and guest of honor that night, His Highness Prince Philip had remained at the center of attention throughout—before the dinner began in the antechamber, during the dinner in the center of the grand hall, and once the dancing commenced, in the ballroom. There was absolutely no possibility that he had wandered about aimlessly alone until his departure. Since they themselves had been attending to him, there could be no greater certainty; from the outset, they did not even deign to take this housemaid’s words seriously, dismissing it as some error in Lovisa’s memory.

Of course, it was only natural that they did not take it seriously—it was a matter that could only be laughed off as Lovisa’s faulty memory. On the first day, as Miss Aines had also confirmed through her inspection, the second floor of the main building was purely the ducal family’s private residence—a place with absolutely no purpose for guests to visit. The Widow’s parlor and bedroom, the current Duke and Duchess’s respective parlors and bedrooms, and young Johannes’s room—he had not attended the banquet that night—there was no conceivable reason why His Highness Prince Philip, serving as His Majesty’s royal envoy, would intrude upon such areas out of mere curiosity. However, Miss Aines sensed that something of grave significance lay concealed within Lovisa’s testimony.

If it were accepted that Prince Philip had ventured up to that second floor alone—of all places—then it would naturally follow that His Highness had harbored some impure motive unrelated to his role as the royal representative. As had been noted before, the Widow was a strong-willed person dominated entirely by her emotions—and it was through that very will and emotion that she harbored a suspicion of Prince Philip rooted in her deepest core.

Under normal circumstances, one would expect the Widow to be the first to seize upon such a disadvantageous matter concerning Prince Philip—yet here was that very Widow denying it outright, while an unrelated maid insisted on claims that would harm His Highness. Moreover, this housemaid—who had served at the ducal residence for over two years and earned the Widow’s absolute trust—was now making such an insistent claim. Might there not lie the key to this case somewhere in this very contradiction? And so, the young lady placed considerable weight on this testimony as well.

She promptly took her assistant Oge and decided to investigate the veracity of this testimony once more. The room where Prince Philip’s attendants had been stationed that night—the same room where Oge had once summoned and questioned each servant one by one—was still being provided by the ducal family as a temporary investigation room. Here, she summoned the housemaid Lovisa. The one who entered was a housemaid in name alone—a curly-haired woman so rustic and seemingly slow to speak that one might have described her as downright clumsy, lacking even a hint of nimble agility.

“It seems you are said to have seen Prince Philip walking alone in the second-floor corridor around 7:20 or 7:30 PM that night.” “Where did Prince Philip emerge from, and where was he heading? Please recount it once again.” “I don’t know.” “I encountered His Highness as he was descending the grand staircase.” “And what were you doing at that time?”

“By Mr. Darling’s orders… Mr. Darling is the head chef.” “I was bringing Young Master Johannes and Miss Regine’s meals from the basement.” “So… You were unable to attend the guests’ seats that evening.” “Then, as you were coming out of the basement and about to head for the stairs, you encountered Prince Philip descending from the second floor.” “What was His Highness’s demeanor?” “Did he seem to be in some sort of hurry…?”

“There was nothing particularly different from his usual self.” “His Highness descended slowly and leisurely.” “And then…?” “I stepped aside and was bowing my head, so…” “So after Prince Philip had descended, you went up to the second floor, I take it?” “Yes.”

“Then, after His Highness had descended, did you happen to notice which direction he went?”

“Yes, I simply proceeded up to the second floor, so…” “Apart from you, was there anyone else who saw His Highness at that time?” “Since there was no one else, there might not have been anyone who saw.” “Will you clearly state what you have just said even before Her Ladyship?”

“Yes, I may not know about other matters, but what I do know, I will state before anyone...” “But Her Ladyship—having attended His Highness as guest of honor that night—remained at his side throughout and maintains Prince Philip never once left his seat.” “Moreover, she insists there could be no conceivable reason for His Highness to ascend to the main building’s second floor of all places. Lovisa, might this not be some error on your part?”

“But I did encounter His Highness, so it is not a mistake on my part.” “Very well. Stay right there, Ouge. Please go and fetch Her Ladyship.”

Miss Aines turned her attention to Ouge. The Widow entered. Loviisa fidgeted nervously. "Madam, no matter how many times we ask this maid, she does not retract her previous statement." "If you'll pardon my saying so, could it not be that the mistake lies with you, Madam?" "Loviisa, it has been just over two years since you came to this household." "I know full well that you are not the sort of person to tell lies or nonsense." "But as for what you're claiming now—could it not be some mistake on your part?" "Think again!"

The Widow slowly turned to face Loviisa. "When it comes to the time you encountered His Highness around 7:20 or 7:30 PM, I too have a clear recollection of that very moment." "Right before the dining hall opened... I was offering my arm to His Highness and guiding him through the corridor to the dining hall at that very moment." "And prior to that, I was speaking with Johannes behind the antechamber, but His Highness was conversing with the Foreign Minister and the American Ambassador's party near where the palm trees were placed." "Where on earth would His Highness have had the time to go upstairs... Could this not be some mistake on your part?"

"My Lady, I most certainly did pass by His Highness." "It is absolutely not a mistake—His Highness was wearing green Western-style trousers with red stripes." "Were they boots—the ones he wore?" "No—ordinary shoes… ordinary shoes with golden spurs… And on his chest… Though I cannot recall clearly, he wore a silver medal decoration…"

“Then it must indeed be His Highness after all!”

The Widow sighed. Just as Loviisa had stated, that was indeed the attire His Highness Prince Philip had worn that evening. His Highness had worn short boots with golden spurs, and the silver medal decoration was likely referring to the abbreviated ribbon of the Lerefan Bran Grand Cordon he had been wearing. That was exactly the case. As for Loviisa, who had not appeared before the guests—if she had not encountered His Highness in that crowd within this vast mansion, how could she possibly have known all these details?

“Strange, most strange. Yet what you say contains no error… Miss Ingrid, this one’s account likewise holds no falsehood. Still, I find myself utterly unable to make sense of it.” With an expression of profound incomprehension—her head shaking in continuous denial—the Widow withdrew. But then Loviisa interjected urgently, as if suddenly recalling: “Ah! I neglected to mention earlier—” “At that moment, His Highness was holding white gloves.”

“So… white gloves…”

Miss Aines pondered this, but with this, the fact that Loviisa had encountered His Highness had now become an unshakable truth. It appeared to be His Highness’s habit that he would never leave his white kid gloves at the cloakroom, always tucking them into the pocket of his Western-style trousers instead. And it was often rumored that he would sometimes clutch them in his hand. “There’s nothing more to question this maid about—she seems an honest woman.”

After Loviisa had left, Ouge groaned and said.

“This would mean there are two instances of His Highness—one walking the corridor with the Widow, and another descending from the second floor.” “If we can resolve this discrepancy, we’ll have the key to solving the case, but…” “There’s more, Ouge!” “Johannes constructing model airplanes upstairs and Johannes conversing with the Widow downstairs… If we can untangle this…” Miss Aines closed her eyes and tapped the desk with her pencil tip.

Just as the Bjorge Incident had been mired in confusion from the very beginning, this case too had exhibited an impenetrable chaos from the outset. If it was neither an external thief’s intrusion nor a swap within the safe, then there was no choice but to proceed with the investigation based on these testimonies—but in any case, it had promised immense difficulties from the very beginning.

Of course, they immediately dispatched Ebbe to scrutinize the background of this maid Loviisa without delay. Before coming to the duke’s residence, this woman had worked as a maid at a car rental shop in Roskilde, located twenty-seven miles southwest of Copenhagen. Ebbe sped off in the car to investigate there. “Did that girl do something wrong?” The car rental shop owner was startled, his eyes widening into circles.

“An honest and upright person like that—there’s no one more reliable. I wanted her to stay at home so bad I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. She just had to get a taste of city life, no matter what! So she took her leave, I tell ya. By the way—what did that girl do?” It wasn’t that she had done anything wrong—but since he couldn’t openly mention the necklace theft as the real reason behind such-and-such circumstances, he fabricated a plausible excuse and reported that while the owner said one thing, she had said another.

“What Loviisa’s sayin’—there’s absolutely no mistake in it, I tell ya!”

For the old man, there was no black or white in either party’s claims. “That girl’s never told a single lie, I tell ya! If they’re spoutin’ such nonsense, then that Duke-and-Count household ain’t worth spit! You tell her to quit that place quick and come back here—we’re waitin’, I tell ya! And now there’s a new baby—we’re desperate to have her back, ain’t a damn thing we can do about it!”

A person trusted to this extent by their former employer was truly remarkable. Precisely because it had become clear that Loviisa was not a person who would lie, the inscrutable complexity of the case had only grown more profound.

Around the time of the Summer Solstice Festival

Just as the Bjorge Incident had begun in confusion from its very outset, this case too had run aground several times, and countless times Miss Aines had grown faint-hearted, perhaps nearly abandoning it. And during that period when she spent her days in anguish, there came a day when she was taken out by that prosecutor—Uncle Hartuan—to the Freeman’s Club on Andersen Street, where she was allowed to take a brief respite for half a day. Of course, Mr. Hartuan knew that Miss Aines was wholly engrossed in the Drager Duke family case and had been struggling to the utmost.

“Even the National Police Agency’s top investigators—four or five of them working together—couldn’t make headway. Do you really think you, a woman, will solve this so easily?” “Don’t rush; take it slow. Let’s have lunch.” “Don’t fret and come along, come along.” To this prosecutor—who knew well the hardships of detective work—there must have been added pity for this child of his deceased friend: an orphaned girl now enduring such trials. Being a lover of drink, he narrowed his eyes with pleasure at his favorite akvavit set before the meal. Miss Aines had rarely visited such clubs, but the prosecutor seemed to frequent this one often,

“Oh, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” “How have you been since then?” He busily exchanged greetings with regulars passing by his side—and so on.

Now rising to his feet and shaking hands with nostalgic warmth was a silver-haired old gentleman—lean as a crane and towering in stature.

“Oh, are you going to Buenos Aires early next month, sir?” “To travel around visiting your son and daughter’s places even at your age—what an enviable position.” “How delightful… Well then, do come—it’s been too long. Let’s raise a farewell cup.”

At last, they were led to their seats. “It seems your companion has also arrived, but I trust this is not an inconvenience?” Having offered a courteous greeting and taken his seat, the old gentleman appeared to be in his seventies or thereabouts. He was a steadfast gentleman who had built his life through steady, diligent work and now seemingly lived on a pension. This man had once served as a royal tutor and had been entrusted with raising His Highness Prince Philip during the prince’s childhood—a fact that still occupied the young lady’s thoughts. Of course, that was already over a decade ago, but early next month, he was said to be heading to Argentina to visit his daughter, who had married an embassy official in Buenos Aires. With little else to discuss, the young lady sipped her kirsch and listened to the two old men’s conversation.

In Denmark, there exists a grand festival called the Summer Solstice Festival, celebrated nationwide for two or even three consecutive days around June 22nd or 23rd each year. Just as that year's Summer Solstice Festival was approaching beyond its peak days, shops anticipating its business had likely begun rehearsals with their flower-decorated vehicles. While conversing with this elderly gentleman, a sudden commotion erupted beneath the window—a procession of six or seven flower-bedecked cars bearing costumed figures paraded from Mangus Street, led by a band vehicle.

“Well, well, something interesting has arrived.” They had stopped their meal and were leaning out the window to watch—and being on the second floor, they had a clear view of the costumed figures below. There were those dressed as Thorvaldsen—Denmark’s great sculptor…Bathing beauties baring their voluptuous figures to the crowd’s cheers…A figure portraying Christian V, the illustrious ruler who revived Denmark’s fortunes, gripping his sword…But most elaborate of all was the fourth costume. The man impersonated Olle Årenius—Denmark’s premier actor, now nationally celebrated—greeting the crowd with an affected pose, his left eyebrow slightly arched. From his thin mustache and monocle-adorned face to his posture—right leg thrust forward and torso leaning back—he mirrored Årenius down to the last detail. Amid laughter, the crowd roared loudest for this fourth car.

“That’s a dead ringer! A dead ringer for the real Årenius!” The prosecutor marveled at this and kept his eyes fixed on the departing flower-decorated cars. Even after returning to their seats, the conversation remained dominated for a time by the ingenuity of the costumed figures they had just seen, but the old gentleman was not one to readily accept the prosecutor’s praise at face value. As one grows old, does a sense of resistance arise toward things immediately at hand, leading one to nostalgically dwell on the past in all matters? “I won’t say the ones we saw just now were poorly done,” said the old gentleman, “but Mr. Hartuan, I do wish I could show you what a truly masterful costume looks like—the work of someone genuinely skilled in disguise.”

"Even now, what I cannot forget is the time I spent at Amalienborg Palace."

Amalienborg Palace was the location of the Prince’s Palace; during the previous king’s era, the current king and the princes and princesses were all raised here.

“Back when I was at Amalienborg Palace, His Highness’s fellow student…”

The old gentleman fell silent as if startled but nonchalantly continued. “He was a fellow student of His Highness the Prince, but that man was so skillful, so skillful! I’ve never seen anyone as skillful as that, I tell you! Once when he disguised himself as a maid in her fifties who attended Princess Ingeborg—not just matching her face and gait, but even capturing her habit of furrowing her brow and her very voice—he became indistinguishable from the real article. What’s more, while she was glancing about nervously, he plucked an earring right from her ear and slipped it onto his own… And she never noticed a thing! Oh how we laughed—laughed till our sides ached! The commotion grew so uproarious that Her Highness herself finally came to see what was the matter. Yet despite having kept that maid by her side for years, Princess Ingeborg couldn’t tell impostor from genuine article in the end! She even started giving orders to the fake… Oh how we roared—roared with laughter! We all doubled over, I tell you!”

The old gentleman’s eyes filled with tears as he burst into laughter.

The prosecutor and the young lady burst into laughter.

“Hohohohoho, did that fellow student of yours become an actor or something?” “Good heavens, no—far from being some mere actor! Why, he’s a proper gentleman—now an executive at Kragh Shipbuilding, I tell you!”

Kragh Shipbuilding was one of Denmark’s foremost corporations.

“Lord Lund?” “No, he is the president’s son…” “Who could it be? Count Steensen…?” Having been neatly outsmarted, the old man widened his eyes in surprise. “Yes... yes... That person’s... childhood days, I believe.” “He must have been around sixteen at the time, I believe.” “Did His Highness have a great many fellow students?” “Oh, no… That person alone, I tell you.” For the elderly, reminiscing about days gone by may have been a pleasant dream, but for the prosecutor and Miss Aines—who knew nothing of Count Steensen, let alone his childhood—no matter how divinely skilled his disguises might be, it was hardly a topic of great interest. Because the old man laughed, they had merely joined in with a laugh, and thus the conversation came to an end.

Eventually, the old gentleman also departed, and Miss Aines and Mr. Hartuan left the club after glancing through recent magazines or something—it must have been near dusk. A mist was slowly settling over the town, and people hurrying homeward were beginning to crowd the streets. As they wandered along Oster Street and Aarhus Street, gazing absently into shop displays without exchanging a word, something abruptly flashed through Miss Aines’ mind like lightning. She stiffened and halted. For an instant, she imagined she saw the noble countenance of His Highness Prince Philip—whose photograph she had once studied—reflected among the shadows of gowns in a nearby window.

The current king, His Majesty Hendel VII, had no siblings other than His Royal Highness Prince Philip, the King’s younger brother, and Her Royal Highness Princess Ingeborg, the King’s younger sister. Yet whispers circulating through back alleys spoke of another—a child secretly fathered by the late King Oscar III through some fleeting dalliance with a chambermaid, now rumored to have reached adulthood in hiding. Could it be... she wondered... could Count Steensen of the shipbuilding company—the one the old gentleman had called a royal classmate—perhaps be that secret child of the late king?

If that Count was… the young lady pursued her train of thought—a man notorious as a consummate playboy who, during his studies in Lyon University’s shipbuilding department, had taken a French-born woman he became involved with as his wife and gradually drawn her into his mansion. Beyond that, there was no end to the ceaseless rumors surrounding women. As a hereditary noble, he held a seat in the Upper House, though his roles as legislator and corporate figurehead were purely nominal. While his predecessor, Count Ludvig Steensen, had served merely as the late king’s chamberlain without any particular reputation for wealth, the current Count had built a magnificently grand mansion beside the Glyptotek museum—maintaining a lifestyle of such opulence that it verged on surpassing royalty itself. Where could such vast sums be coming from? If this man were indeed Prince Philip’s secret younger brother, his extravagant living would be explicable enough. Yet the Count’s true distinction lay in his dexterous hands and mastery of disguise: even at sixteen, he had reportedly impersonated a maid in her fifties so flawlessly that Princess Ingeborg—whom he attended daily—could not tell him apart from the genuine servant.

If his disguises were that masterful, he could naturally impersonate Prince Philip and even take on the guise of Johannes—the sixteen-year-old younger brother of Duke Drager. And... and... if he had the skill to remove earrings without even the maid noticing, then swapping out the necklace in the instant he rubbed cheeks with Mother would be child’s play… Having followed her thoughts that far, the young lady could not help but notice how drastically her own complexion had changed.

After parting ways with Mr. Hartuan, who knew nothing of this, she dashed home in a single breath, where the young lady hurriedly looked up Count Steensen’s address. And she picked up the telephone receiver.

"Summon Ouge and have Fredensborg Castle thoroughly searched!" she commanded.

Ouge was in his forties—an unquestionably skilled detective who, out of gratitude for the care he had received from her late father, had never struck out on his own even after the man’s death and continued assisting the young lady even now. That she had inherited her father’s work and opened her detective agency was likely owing in no small part to her reliance on Ouge. Of course, His Highness could no longer reside at Fredensborg Castle, but this skilled individual could likely understand the situation by focusing solely on Fredensborg Castle itself, without needing explicit mention of His Highness.

“Okay! Miss Ingrid!”

A deep voice resounded forcefully from the other end of the receiver. "I figured you’d probably get around to that, so I’ve had a couple of men on it since yesterday. I’ll round up two or three more men and give it a thorough scrubbing down, shall I?" That was his reply.

Next, she called Ebbe, but she could not get through to him, as his whereabouts were unknown. He was not fit for polite company, but the young lady had yet another eccentric henchman at her disposal—Ralf, nicknamed "the Viper". A six-time offender of highway robbery, muggings, pickpocketing, theft—a man who dabbled in every vice imaginable, as varied as a department store’s wares. Yet after being saved by her late father, he had abruptly severed ties with his criminal past and now served loyally as a henchman across two generations of private detectives. The cobra is an Indian venomous snake; his nickname likely stemmed from its lethal nature—once it sinks its fangs in, it never lets go.

“What’s the plan, Boss? You're panting like a fool!” “With this change in weather—ain't your heart all aflutter just a bit?” “This is no time for that! Ralf—can't you switch locations right away?” “To Kragh Shipbuilding’s Steensen!”

“You mean Kragh Shipbuilding’s Steensen?” “Look—the Count with the big mansion next to the museum…” “Got it. Then let’s get right on it.” “Withdraw everyone for now and have all your men handle it.” “Got it! But Boss—your voice sounds off. Ain’t your heart all aflutter or somethin’?”

Far from feeling lighthearted! The moment she realized His Highness had been pulling strings behind the scenes, her mood turned oppressive—and though she knew she mustn't let emotions interfere, she couldn't help sensing a sorrowful disillusionment. Even after setting down the receiver, it kept her gasping there awhile, this situation.

Patron of the Wretched

His Royal Highness Prince Philip had left Merbei Palace within Fredensborg Castle about two years prior and now resided in a private house he purchased approximately three kilometers southwest of the city suburbs, near Segelfos Hill. By mobilizing everyone at his disposal—shepherds’ wives from the vicinity, retired officials, the town’s street urchins—Ouge maintained strict surveillance. Investigative inquiries poured in frequently. The information had not all arrived at once, but when pieced together, it painted roughly this picture.

His Highness maintained an extremely regular lifestyle. Every morning at nine o'clock, he left for work, returning around four in the evening from the Tilbon Dragoon Regiment with no other outings observed. Only on rare occasions when required by His Majesty the King would he serve as a royal proxy. After dinner, he would retire to his study—the second-floor room on the right when viewed from the rear garden, surrounded by birch trees—where the electric light remained lit until one or two o'clock in the morning.

There were furthermore no rumors of women coming and going involving His Highness.

His Highness’s audience days were every Wednesday and Friday afternoon. On these days, drawn by His Highness’s virtue, the disabled, the crippled, orphans, and widows would gather from across the nation. On busy days, there were times when as many as fifteen or sixteen people came by in a single day.

His Highness also graciously granted audiences to these pitiable individuals, arranged for them to be assisted by their respective welfare institutions, and generously bestowed money and goods upon them with care. These individuals shed tears, deeply moved by His Highness’s benevolence. Last March, His Highness dismissed the majority of the over twenty domestic staff members he had employed until then. At present, there remained only eight servants. From the cooks down to the cleaners, they were all men; not a single woman could be found among them. And he was striving to reduce expenses to the utmost. Though the Imperial Household expenses had been allocated ample funds within the royal family’s budget, why he pursued such extreme frugality remained a profound mystery to the general public. His current lifestyle, one of the domestic staff remarked, was about middle-class in standard.

Combined with His Highness’s departure from Fredensborg Castle’s detached palace in February two years prior and his subsequent commencement of life as a commoner, these circumstances likely represented an opaque aspect within His Highness’s character. It was difficult to attribute this solely to a deficiency in self-serving ambition. Could there not be, rather, a miserly, gold-obsessed aspect within His Highness’s character? Such things were being rumored. There might have lurked within him a jewel-obsessed aspect as well.

Summarizing the inquiries Ouge had gathered, this was what they amounted to. Meanwhile, urgent reports were also streaming in from Ebbe and the Viper Ralf, who kept watch over Count Steensen’s mansion. When compiled together, they formed the following picture.

"Count Peder Steensen is twenty-seven years old this year." He shares the same age as His Highness Prince Philip; however, having been born in 1921, he is six months younger than His Highness. He was registered as the child of the late Grand Chamberlain, Count Ludvig Steensen. However, at the time of his birth, the late Grand Chamberlain was sixty-three years old. Whether he was indeed the biological child of the late Count remains unclear. It is a fact that until age seventeen, he was raised within Amalienborg Palace alongside His Majesty King Hendel VII, His Highness Prince Philip, and Her Highness Princess Ingeborg. Officially recorded as a princely schoolmate, it has been revealed that his treatment differed in no way from that of the princes and princesses themselves. However, this fact alone made it impossible to conclusively determine he was the son of His Majesty the late King Oscar III. The Grand Chamberlain and his wife—who had no other children—passed away in succession in 1927 and 1929.

The Count was currently listed among the executives as a senator and vice president of Krag Shipbuilding Company. However, he had hardly attended either parliament sessions or company meetings. His parliamentary membership was registered with the Unified Conservative Party.

His hobbies were hunting and billiards. He appeared to be a man who indulged in gambling, philandering, possessed a strong drinking habit, and exhibited a profligate and extravagant nature. His lifestyle reached extremes of opulence, and the mansion on Lawrence Street—a lavish and imposing structure—had been purchased in 1945 from Oltev i Gundorf, a wealthy Jewish merchant. He maintained a villa in Helsingør, but there were no signs of the Count having visited it for about a year. Mr. Gundorf had naturalized as a French citizen and currently resided in Paris.

As the young lady had inferred, the Count closely resembled His Highness Prince Philip both in facial features and physique. He stood slightly shorter than His Highness with a more corpulent build. Yet he remained nearly indistinguishable save for the mustache he sported. His voice remained unidentified. The household staff numbered eighteen in total. Correspondence from South America—particularly Argentina and Uruguay—proved particularly frequent, while thick envelopes had arrived about three times from Vesterbargen Customs at the border two or three days prior.

During the day, there were almost no visitors to the Count’s mansion. Visitors would arrive at dusk, stay overnight at the Count’s mansion, and then depart.

Countess Yelva was a Frenchwoman born in Avian, a suburb of Nancy—alluring and twenty-four years old, bearing the French name Léontine. As rumored, her outings were exceedingly frequent. Scandalous rumors had arisen regarding her involvement with Polaris Award-winning actor Henning Roman, but the Count appeared entirely unconcerned, and there seemed to be no discord between the couple. There was no way Viper Ralf could have conducted such meticulous inquiries. This was of course a provisional summary crafted by Miss Ingrid—primarily based on Ebbe’s reports and supplemented by what Ralf brought in with his raucous shouts of “Boss! Boss!”—though like Ouge’s findings, it too had not been compiled all at once. Over the approximately two months since the stakeout began, each piece of information gathered at every turn—from the initial inquiries onward—had gradually fermented and distilled within the young lady’s mind as the decisive key to this crime.

And now, according to the young lady’s established perspective, the incident at the Drager Duke Mansion was reconstructed as follows.

The criminal who stole the Sea Serpent Necklace was none other than Count Steensen. The Count had infiltrated the duke’s mansion disguised as one of His Highness’s attendants. The one who approached the Widow and pestered her for pocket money to buy model airplane materials was undoubtedly this Count disguised as the young boy Johannes. While the others were engrossed in a game of shogi in the attendants’ waiting room adjacent to the antechamber, the Count secretly descended a spiral staircase in one corner of the room—a passageway that became an underground tunnel lined with exposed kibiragoshi stone, intersected two or three side passages, and eventually emerged beside the grand staircase leading to the second floor—a route the young lady had once inspected in reverse under the butler’s guidance. The Count passed through this passage and ascended to the second floor.

The northernmost room on the second floor’s north side was used as a storage space for guest feather quilts, bedding sheets, unused carpets, and similar items. It was not kept locked because they were constantly taking things in and out. The young lady had also seen this room when she had inspected it on a previous occasion. Undoubtedly, the Count had entered this room and donned young boy Johannes’s clothing that he had prepared in advance. And then, putting on an innocent face, he descended the main staircase, summoned the Widow, and undoubtedly pestered her for pocket money.

Of course, he must have meticulously investigated the boy’s clothing and appearance during his comings and goings to school and other occasions in advance. At the same time, he must have thoroughly ascertained both that the boy was engrossed in building model airplanes with his tutor and that he would not attend that evening’s banquet. And when told by the Widow, “You may receive the money from the butler,” he—thanking her with repeated “Thank you, Mother”—embraced her neck and planted a kiss, at which moment he must have employed extraordinary sleight of hand to steal the necklace from her neck. And he must have replaced it with a counterfeit.

After committing the crime, he returned to the second floor and, back in the previous storage room, discarded young Johannes’s clothes before changing into His Highness Prince Philip’s military uniform—ordinarily he should have switched to an attendant’s attire here, but why he had gone to the trouble of donning His Highness’s uniform instead was something the young lady could not fathom, no matter how she considered it. She could not understand it, but the young lady could not bring herself to doubt her own reasoning in the slightest. In any case, the Count—having assumed the guise of His Highness the Dragoon Captain—descended the second-floor front staircase with leisurely composure. There, he encountered the housemaid Loviisa. Therefore, if Loviisa’s testimony of having encountered His Highness descending from the second floor was true—and given that the real His Highness could not have moved from his seat even a moment prior—then the Widow’s vehement rebuttal of Loviisa’s account could also be considered truthful.

After parting with Loviisa, the Count’s fake Highness slipped through the back staircase there into the underground passageway, ascended the spiral staircase, and returned to the attendants’ waiting room. However, before entering the room, he had likely discarded His Highness’s attire in the dimness of the staircase and changed into an attendant’s uniform. Thus, the Count withdrew with leisurely composure among His Highness’s retinue when the prince departed; in this scenario, it followed that he had prepared not only the counterfeit necklace but also two complete sets of attire—one for His Highness and another for young Johannes.

Moreover, given that he left no evidence behind and even took everything back with him, it was absolutely unthinkable that such a thing could have been carried out without His Highness’s support or acquiescence. In other words, His Highness had sanctioned the entirety of the Count’s crimes behind an innocent facade. Four or five months before the incident—on a sweltering afternoon—the Widow claimed His Highness had visited during a drive to Kita Namiki-dori, accompanied by an attractive maid. Of course, this too had not been the real His Highness. The true prince would have been aware of this deception, but the one referred to as His Highness who visited was none other than the Count in disguise. As for that maid—could it be… could it be… Yelva… Countess Léontine, born in France? That conclusion seemed irrefutable.

This was Miss Ingrid’s deduction regarding the Drager Incident, but if one assumed the Count to be the culprit, the solution to the Bjorge Residence Incident—which she had once heard from Prosecutor Hartuan—immediately fell into place. In other words, the His Highness who had asked Madam Ellen to dance in the ballroom was, of course, not the real His Highness Philip. It was Count Steensen who had been disguised as His Highness. His Highness had been unable to absent himself from the gathering with the Minister of Shipping, the Minister of Finance, and the president of Bethlehem Steel Company from the very beginning. And of course, as Madam Ellen had surmised, he had made her inhale the anesthetic while dancing.

While Madam Ellen rested half-awake beneath a beech tree’s shade in the inner garden, he stole her bracelet and necklace. Here too, he had withdrawn safely from the Bjorge Residence among His Highness’s attendants. But where within that mansion had Count Steensen disguised himself as His Highness? Through what hidden passage had he shuttled between ballroom and servants’ quarters? As for when and where he had examined Madam Ellen’s bracelets and necklaces to prepare counterfeits—this remained unknown. Since the young lady bore no direct connection to this case, such details stayed obscure—though for a Count so steeped in guile, such feats would have been trifles. Had he wished to don a disguise, even a lavatory would have sufficed; had he needed to study the Countess’s jewels beforehand, he could have inspected them at will while masquerading as His Highness Prince Philip.

Considering this sequence of events—when the Countess had expressed her gratitude with “Your Highness, thank you for earlier”—His Highness had initially reacted with a startled “Huh?” At first, His Highness seemed taken aback— “Ah, that went splendidly; nothing could be better.” His Highness’s rehearsed reply and demeanor became entirely explicable. In any case, that His Highness was the ringleader, prime instigator, and mastermind behind these incidents now stood beyond all doubt.

While the Count’s crimes were of course unforgivable, compared to His Highness’s mask...as president of the Orphanage Association, president of the Old-Age Welfare Association, president of the Danish Red Cross—and especially according to Ouge’s inquiries—on visiting days fifteen or sixteen unfortunate souls—the disabled, the infirm, orphans, widows—would gather. His Highness—who outwardly showed compassion to those people while secretly scheming such insidious evils and instigating the Count—was a villain tenfold, twentyfold, a hundredfold greater than the Count himself, and the young lady’s cheeks flushed crimson.

Of course, the stolen goods were likely still concealed at the Count’s mansion, so their first task was to raid his estate—but beyond that, they had to confront His Highness with irrefutable evidence: thrusting forward the Count himself as a living witness to strip away the mask of this pseudo-president, this pseudo-philanthropist, this pseudo-saint—this monstrous swindler of a princely arch-thief—and it was with this fury that the young lady trembled from head to toe. This was no mere fleeting emotion—something as trifling as the sorrow of disillusionment. It was something far deeper—a more profound, seething indignation.

And suppressing her pounding heart while waiting for irrefutable evidence to emerge, soon that irrefutable evidence too—

“Boss! Boss!” At last, the day the Viper had sniffed out had arrived.

“I’m tellin’ ya, that’s one helluva house—a proper den o’ demons!” “They got a secret workshop down in the basement, I swear!” “Locked up tighter’n a drum—won’t let a single servant near the place!” “That’s where they’re breakin’ down the stolen jewels—I’d stake my rep on it!” “Counterfeits ain’t no amateur’s game—prob’ly farmin’ ’em out somewheres far off.” “Never you mind that, Boss!” “Let’s raid ’em! Let’s storm the joint!” “The Viper’s eyes ain’t just for show—they see true!”

And thus, he was brimming with fervor. The father of the Countess born in France was a village ornamental metalworker. Given that she had a father who was an ornamental metalworker, it naturally followed that even as an adult, dismantling stolen necklaces and bracelets would be no trouble at all. Furthermore, another critical report arrived from Ebbe. The elderly man—said to be a former tutor whom Prosecutor Hartuan and I had once met at the club—had visited the Count’s mansion four or five days prior and had yet to be seen since.

As if he would be going to Argentina early next month—what nonsense! He was still loitering about the city. Moreover, there was absolutely no sign he had left anywhere after entering the mansion. Miss Ingrid concluded this old man was none other than the liaison between Prince Philip and the Count. Thus her intuition solidified into conviction, and that conviction now burned within her chest, reaching its boiling point.

If this decisive move misses its mark, I’ll take down my detective’s shingle for good! With that resolve steeled in her core, But when they were finally about to act, an obstacle emerged. Senators and corporate directors posed little challenge—the true difficulty lay in their adversary’s noble bloodline. As a private investigator, she couldn’t move recklessly without authorization from official channels. All the more so with His Highness Philip looming behind them.

Finally resolved, the young lady went to visit the Commissioner of the National Police Bureau one day to seek official approval. Approximately two and a half months had passed since they first encountered that elderly tutor and began surveilling the Count’s mansion and His Highness’s movements. In that time, the northern country’s summer had passed in the blink of an eye, and a desolate autumn had already crept into the vicinity.

Countess and the Foreign Vice-Minister’s Daughter The Commissioner, considering the risk of miscalculation, refrained from deploying reinforcements from the National Police Bureau but permitted seven or eight plainclothes officers from the City Police Department to be mobilized. Though too perilous to entrust to the Viper, the strategy was settled: Ouge’s seven operatives—long under his supervision—alongside Ebbe’s four, combined with the City Police, formed a total force of twenty. While Miss Ingrid kept the Count appropriately occupied during his outing, these men would storm [the mansion] and execute a thorough, inch-by-inch house search in one decisive operation.

While they waited for an opportunity today or tomorrow, the situation took a complete about-face. The mansion was in an uproar; it seemed they had finished dismantling the stolen goods and were about to move them out of the country! This was Ebbe’s urgent report. After confirming Ebbe’s information, intelligence from the Viper arrived. Three large packages had been loaded onto the Augusta bound for Rio de Janeiro via Pernambuco that very day. At Naagel, a watch shop on Bargers Street corner, Countess Yelva herself—quite unbefitting her station—had purchased a cheap brass musical clock measuring roughly ten inches tall and eight inches wide. It appeared the Countess intended to depart alone first.

The young lady intuited that they intended to pack the jewels inside this clock. The Viper apparently reached the same conclusion.

Now, how many days had passed since the young lady, having confirmed that the Countess had boarded the Continental Express bound for Hamburg via Fredericia and Flensburg at Central Station, hurriedly leapt onto the rear of the train? It was a chilly day with a misty drizzle soaking through since morning. She must have judged that this way would instead avoid drawing attention. In the fifth first-class compartment from the front—in Danish, this is called a *hytte* (cabin). In that compartment, without even a maid and all alone—under the guise of a noblewoman traveling solo—the Countess was riding.

Two medium-sized suitcases, and a paper package—from whose corner peeked a crude cardboard box, as if it had been bought as a last-minute souvenir from some nearby shop. To the casual eye, this plain paper package held nothing unusual, but the young lady was convinced that it indeed contained the singing clock packed with jewels. In the third-class car of the seventh carriage from the rear, three detectives from the City Police Department were keeping watch, mingling among ordinary passengers. At the entrance of the front second-class car, the Deputy Director of the National Police Bureau also sat in plain clothes, disguised as a passenger.

Miss Ingrid had not brought Ouge or Ebbe, but only Ralf the Viper. To be chasing the Sea Serpent Necklace with a land viper like Cobra! she mused wryly at the peculiarity of that pairing. She stood on the first-class deck for a while until her compartment was ready. The National Police Bureau’s operations, as well as the City Police Department’s, had likely been fully deployed. The real conductor had retreated into the compartment, “Are you Miss Olsen, the daughter of Foreign Vice-Minister Olsen?”

At that moment, the Viper—disguised as a conductor—approached and gave a slight bow before the lady detective who had introduced herself as Miss Olsen, the Foreign Vice-Minister’s daughter. “I shall inform the Countess at once, so please wait just a little longer.” “Her Ladyship holds a through ticket to Bremen.”

With that, he informed her. And as he turned to leave, he glanced around and smirked, his cheek twisting. “Boss, your eyes are as sharp as ever.” “The goods are in the cardboard box package. Ain’t no mistake about it.” “She’s already a rat in a trap!”

With that, he encouraged her.

As the train finally approached Lyngrisgården, “Now please proceed, Miss—I have notified the Countess.” The Viper conductor led the way into the compartment. She met the Countess face-to-face for the first time. Indeed, one understood why the Count had been captivated when she was a Lyon dancer long ago—her dewy eyes, lashes glistening with allure, legs as slender and poised as a leopardess’s! Swathed in luxurious mink fur with a tiger-patterned lap blanket beside her, she presented noble elegance layered over a dazzling beauty meant to bedazzle observers.

“Now then, Madam—I do apologize—but please share this compartment with this young lady until Hamburg! Unfortunately, we’re rather crowded at present.”

“Madam, excuse me.”

The Foreign Vice-Minister’s daughter also took her seat across from the Madam with the same graceful demeanor. “Please, make yourself comfortable!” With a gracious smile, she returned the bow and—leaning her cheek against the window frame—the Countess tilted her body slightly as she gazed out at the passing scenery. Whether judged by her beauty, elegance, or magnanimity, she appeared from every angle an upper-class noblewoman without the slightest flaw. Her eyes especially radiated a bewitching allure! Ah—so this was the woman who had accompanied the fake Prince Philip to inspect the necklace! And this was she whom the Widow Drager believed to be His Highness’s favored mistress! She nodded. The cardboard box package in question had been carelessly tossed onto the luggage rack. One suitcase lay at her feet; the smaller one had been carefully drawn close to her side.

To anyone looking, it would seem the suitcase drawn close to her side held the valuables. She wanted to get closer somehow, but she couldn’t just strike up a conversation carelessly. The young lady also placed one leg on her own suitcase and took out a magazine to begin reading. Peering from behind the magazine, she saw the Countess writing something on a telegram form with a fountain pen, her expression pensive as the nib scratched softly across the paper. When she finished writing, she opened the door and went out, likely intending to hand it over to the conductor or someone else.

Then, when she returned shortly thereafter—wearing an expression as if to say her business had been sealed with a kiss—she pulled the lap blanket closer, and in that instant, their eyes met. She beamed with dimples forming in her cheeks and addressed her in a tone that permitted no evasion. “How far are you traveling, Miss?” “Oh, I—uh... am going to Paris.” “Oh Paris? You see, I’m going only as far as Bremen—so we’ll be traveling together for a while longer. …How lovely! At this time of year, Paris should still be quite warm—the Champs-Élysées must be bustling splendidly. How perfectly delightful!”

She narrowed her eyes in rapture. "I too was raised in Paris as a child, so no matter how much time passes, I simply cannot forget those sights, you know."

she murmured as if talking to herself. "Where in Paris did you live?"

And this time, the Foreign Vice-Minister’s daughter inquired. “Oh, well… in the Latin Quarter, you see—across the Seine, where you can glimpse the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe… My father ran a business there for many years, you see.” “It remains such a nostalgic place to me, you know.”

Her voice flowed like water—refreshing. With a snap, she opened the amber tobacco case studded with gems. "How about it? Miss, would you care for one?" She drew out a cigarette herself and exhaled a fragrant breath with a soft "Hoo." In Denmark, they call Copenhagen the merchant city. "Where in Copenhagen do you reside?" "Oh, my father's official residence is in Ōkigai... But my uncle was in Boston, so I had gone there from childhood and stayed quite long." "As he had passed away, when I returned to my homeland, I felt as though I'd journeyed to some foreign land—Ohohohohoho!"

And this Foreign Vice-Minister’s daughter who had returned from America proved no less fluent than the Countess herself in her eloquent speech. “Well, having spent so long abroad, one can’t help but feel that way, I imagine.” The Countess blinked her eyes with an air of tender solicitude. “I reside on Lawrence Street, you know.” “Are you acquainted with it?” “It’s near the square where the Glyptotek museum stands—a most tranquil area, you understand.” “……I am Yelva Steensen.” “Should you inquire about Count Steensen, you will grasp my standing at once.” “When you return, I do hope you will call upon me.”

“As for myself, please do let this be the beginning of our acquaintance!” “I am Clara Olsen.” The female detective gradually deepened her engagement with the Foreign Vice-Minister’s daughter, but there could scarcely have existed a more disingenuous exchange in all the world than this hollow contest of mutual deception between fox and badger. The claim that Vice-Minister Olsen’s brother had died in Boston would surely make the genuine Vice-Minister swoon were he to hear it, just as the Countess’s assertion that her father had been a Parisian merchant reeked of fabrication. According to Miss Aines’ thorough investigation, this woman had been born in Avian village on the outskirts of Nancy before relocating to Lyon at eight years old. Her father had been a village metalworker; when his business foundered and he could no longer endure remaining in the village, he had purportedly taken up work as a laundryman in Lyon. Driven by grinding poverty, this woman had turned to dancing from age fourteen. A habitual thief since childhood, she had pilfered from fellow dancers during her performing days, resulting in two arrests by Lyon police.

At sixteen, she took a gambler as her lover; incited by the man, she fled to Marseille, defaulted on an advance from a brothel, and was sued. At eighteen years old, after being abandoned by her man, she was noticed by Count Steensen—then a student at Lyon University—and thus gradually insinuated herself into the count’s household, becoming a woman of such ostensibly distinguished background. But just how long did this game of mutual deception continue between the advance-defaulting Countess and the detective posing as Vice-Minister Olsen’s daughter under a false name—this battle of wits between fox and badger?

“Would you care for one?” Amidst the idle chatter of the train compartment, the Countess placed a piece of premium Inge Department Store chocolate into her mouth. The Vice-Minister’s daughter likewise produced a cigarette case and struck a match, offering it with a “Here you go.” “Abdullah No. 16, I see? Exquisite cigarettes... Though perhaps these are a tad too strong for me...”

At last, the train ended its breakneck dash and pulled into Kuzol Station with a labored wheeze. “Madam, if you’ll excuse me for a moment…”

The young lady alighted from the carriage and was pacing back and forth along the lengthy platform to breathe fresh air when one of the supporting detectives—who had been riding in third class disguised as a passenger—passed by her, likewise strolling up and down the platform. As they passed each other, this detective—as if commissioned by the Viper himself—uttered a soliloquy in a ventriloquist-like voice without moving his lips. “Arrive at Hammelsföhren at 6:30 tomorrow morning. “A room must be prepared at the Nessengelt Hotel—Countess Steensen.” Since it was a soliloquy, there was no particular need to respond. Maintaining her feigned ignorance as the detective passed by, Miss Aines too returned to the compartment without so much as a glance, once again composing herself into Miss Olsen. Hammelsföhren and Bremen lay in vastly different directions—the former to the west and the latter to the south.

If one were to buy a through ticket pretending to go to Bremen but actually heading to Hammelsföhren, the train would have to change at Flensburg, the West-German border station. Thus the young lady’s task had to be completed within the remaining four hours or so before reaching Flensburg Station. Though her eyes remained fixed on the magazine, the ball-shaped package on the luggage rack had finally begun to gnaw at her with unease.

As if trying to read that anxiety, the Countess’s smiling eyes occasionally flitted across the young lady’s face while maintaining a casual demeanor. Ah—the female detective found herself nodding in understanding. Whether she was headed to Bremen or Hammelsföhren—her destination remained unclear—but she had sent a false telegram to Hammelsföhren first to test whether I was a detective by gauging my reaction. And her frequent trips out of the compartment since earlier must have been to observe my behavior while I was away. If that were the case, showing even a hint of impatience would have been tantamount to confessing that she herself was a detective. Whether aware or not of Miss Aines’s mind, the Countess continued to maintain her elegant demeanor while occasionally addressing her with a cheerful smile. Since she must not reveal any flaws, the Vice-Minister’s daughter kept her replies as brief as possible, but what she had discerned during that time was that this woman was one of extraordinary intellect. Though her hands may have been sticky, and though she may have been boy-crazy since her girlhood, being noticed by the Count was no accident—her mind was remarkably, keenly developed! She could not help but be astonished.

At last, the train pulled into Vesterbargen Station—the final extremity of Danish territory. From this station to Flensburg, the West German border station—about forty minutes. When the train departed the station, customs officers from Denmark and West Germany were scheduled to board for luggage inspection. Moreover, because this station served as a junction for local trains bound for Tondur and lay near the scenic vistas of Vogelhornes, families on leisurely outings, boarding and alighting passengers, and even smugglers would pause here to catch their breath; all the while gazing at the distant mountains of the North Frisian Islands beyond the misty waves of the North Sea, the long platform teemed with considerable bustle.

While gazing at the bustling crowd and pacing back and forth as usual during her stroll, a different detective from before came approaching from the opposite direction. As they passed each other, the detective threw a small, tightly crumpled scrap of paper into her pocket. When she later entered the restroom and opened it, “Arrive at Obern at 8:00 tomorrow morning. Prepare a room at the Falk Hotel—Countess Steensen.” It was now clear what the Countess was thinking. Where she was headed remained unclear, but that too would likely become clear within the next twenty to thirty minutes—by the time the customs inspection concluded. In any case, it was now clear that she was neither heading to Bremen, nor to Hammelsföhren or Obern. The fact that she was sending telegrams to hotels in places she had no intention of visiting was clear evidence that the Countess, with her sharp intuition, had already detected that the young lady was a detective. Under the assumption that all those telegrams would be leaked to the young lady’s ears, the Countess had devised a scheme to send false telegrams everywhere in order to bewilder her.

Very well—if that’s how it would be, the young lady’s course of action was decided. Once her decision was been made, there was nothing left to rush about. Assuming they would likely collude with customs officers to stage an act, she resolved to keep watch on those officers and arrest them all in one fell swoop.

Vesterbargen customs officers

As the car began ascending the slope, two customs officers knocked on the door. “Border Customs. We’ll need to inspect your luggage.” The West German customs officers, having seemingly delegated everything to their Danish counterparts, merely stood blocking the entrance, while a gaunt Danish officer in his early thirties and a portly one around forty—likely his superior—rummaged through the luggage, overturning and scrutinizing every item.

Of course, there could be no such items that would prove troublesome if inspected by Miss Aines. It contained merely a change of clothes, a couple of undergarments, and a pair of men’s trousers for disguise—prepared for emergencies. Though it was merely a suitcase brought to maintain a traveler’s guise—containing nothing more than a change of clothes and basic necessities—they inspected each and every piece with meticulous shaking, while the Countess’s luggage, as expected, received not so much as a glance before being briskly stamped for customs clearance. The young lady’s eyes were fixed on every movement of the portly customs officer. What she was paying particular attention to was that ball-shaped box package on the luggage rack.

The customs officer’s hands took hold, and the string came undone smoothly. From within the ball-shaped box that had been glanced into emerged a rectangular, gold-plated singing clock that appeared to be a cheap trinket—just as Ebbe had reported some time ago.

“Madam, what is this?” The portly customs officer rose domineeringly to his feet. “It’s a clock… A singing clock, you know!” “For a clock, it seems quite heavy.” “Inside... inside it, I... well, I actually packed some of my personal accessories.” “You mustn’t do such things! If you intended to deceive customs, it’s no wonder you’d be suspected! Open it up and show me.”

Looming before the Countess, his broad back obscured her from the young lady’s view, but it appeared the Countess was opening the clock’s rear cover to show him. The instant it happened, the customs officer’s thick, guttural voice struck her ears with particular force. “This won’t do, this won’t do! Madam, this is contraband, isn’t it?” “I cannot let this pass as it is.” “This will have to be inspected at customs first.”

“Then… does that mean it will be confiscated?” “I’m afraid I cannot say whether it will be confiscated or returned until after it has been inspected.” “In any case, we cannot let you pass as you are. You must accompany us to customs for now.” “Please prepare to disembark at the next station.” “In any case, we will take custody of this at customs.” Once again, the clock was placed into the ball-shaped box, carelessly tied with a string, and the customs officer left, taking it with him.

“Oh, how utterly absurd this is! Such utter nonsense… I packed my own rings, and now they’ve been taken away! And on top of that, being ordered to report to customs?! How utterly absurd this is!” With an ostentatiously bitter smile, she tidied up the luggage that had been rummaged through by the customs officer. The young lady stared fixedly at it. When she had finally finished tidying up, “There’s still twenty minutes left…”

The Countess sat down in her seat while checking her wristwatch. “Here you go.” She opened the case and offered it to her, then took one herself and polished a lighter. It had finally come. She gave a wry smile. With a snap, she opened the case. This time, instead of offering it as before, she plucked a cigarette from the center and commanded those in the middle to move aside to a corner—as if ordering them to make way! Three or four cigarettes lay arranged as though declaring, “Make way!”

“Though you’ve gone to the trouble, Madam, I’ve decided not to accept your cigarettes any longer. I must respectfully decline.”

“Oh! What a strange thing to say. Whatever do you mean?” The Countess’s alluring eyes glinted.

“But I—” A sneer crossed her face. The time had finally come for the fox and badger to expose each other’s true forms. “I’d rather not accept any anesthetic as an added bonus on top of everything else.” “Anesthetic? As an added bonus?” “What are you talking about?” “Somehow I simply can’t grasp what you’re saying at all.” With a suspicious smile, her smiling hand slid slowly and deliberately into her coat pocket.

“At the next station… Before you get off at Flensburg, trying to slip me some anesthetic—that’s rather wicked of you, isn’t it, Madam?” “…………” Her smile vanished from her lips as flames flickered in the Countess’s eyes.

“If that’s how it is… if that’s how it is…”

And in the next instant, a hand leapt out. “H-how about this?” Just as anticipated, the muzzle of a lady’s small pistol! But she was quicker. “Here I go, Madam—pfft!” “If you try even the slightest funny business—” The muzzle pressed against the Countess’s torso clicked menacingly as it bored into her body.

“Raise your hands higher! “Hey, raise them higher!” “A little more… Hey, a little higher!”

Seizing the opportunity, she struck the hand holding the gun with her pistol in a thunderous blow that threatened to shatter bone.

“Agh!” In her exasperation—Bang! A shot went off! The Countess’s bullet missed the door behind her, and billowing white smoke filled the air. She swiftly kicked away the pistol that had fallen to the floor with her shoe. “Madam, sit there! “I told you not to move a muscle!” “My gun isn’t a bluff!” “I said sit down! Don’t you understand?!” Gnashing her teeth with a guttural grind, her face contorted in a feral snarl, the Countess sank into the seat with bitter resignation.

“Still moving your hands?!” “I told you to raise your hands! Do you want to be shot?!” Reluctantly, she fired a warning shot. Once again, white smoke billowed thickly as the bullet pierced through the window glass and flew off into the vast sky. At the piercing smell of gunpowder smoke, the Countess finally ceased her hand movements, her face paling. Keeping her aim trained on the Countess’s heart, she gradually began to back away. Even for a train charging forward with earth-shaking momentum, the two thunderous gunshots just now and the stench of gunpowder were more than enough to shatter the passengers’ peace. “Open up! Open up!” The door was being pounded as if it would shatter. While keeping her gun trained on the Countess, she reached behind her back and undid the door latch. With Viper at the lead, two detectives rushed in with their gun barrels leveled. “What’s going on? What’s happening!” And from behind, passengers surged forward in an unending stream.

“Alright, Boss—I’ll take care of it.” “Miss, step back! I’ll handle the rest.” “Look out! Look out! It’s dangerous—stay out! Stay out, Leontine! Still moving your hands?!”

he called her by her French name, Leontine, for the first time. “It’s fine—it’s fine, Ralf! Hurry and search that woman’s clothes! She has it—she has a dagger hidden!” “Hurry and search that woman’s clothes!” “She has it—she has a dagger hidden!”

At that very moment, the train must have hit a sharp curve, swaying so violently that one couldn’t remain standing. “Look out!” The moment she ducked, the dagger hurled by the Countess sliced through the air and glinted before her eyes. “Agh!” A bloodcurdling scream erupted, and behind her, she sensed someone collapsing. There was no choice—she fired another warning shot through the windowpane.

“Ugh, damn you!” “Still resistin’?!”

Viper and one of the detectives rushed in and restrained the woman. The one who had collapsed was one of the jostling passengers. “Stop the bleeding! Hurry!” “This is bad! Is there a doctor? Anyone? A doctor?” “Stop the train!” “Conductor! Conductor!” “Is there a conductor?!” “It’s the lady detective! The lady detective!” “We’ve caught the smuggling! The smuggling!” Passengers came crowding in wave after wave, like an avalanche. The deputy director, his voice hoarse, was desperately driving them out to the deck. One of the detectives took up guard, and at last the commotion began to subside. Searching the inner pocket of the Countess—her eyes bulging ferociously like a fixed wax doll—Viper retrieved another item: a five-inch dagger honed to razor sharpness, disguised as a fountain pen… The rest were mere accessories—a watch, rings, and the like—nothing of consequence.

While posing as a refined noblewoman, the pistol and two daggers completely exposed the brazen woman’s true nature. “There’s a customs officer with tag number thirty-eight—he’s part of the woman’s gang! The stolen goods were handed over by her. A fat man around forty! He’s inspecting the rear car now! Hurry—before the train stops!” The moment she spoke, Countess Leontine released a bizarre shriek and convulsed violently. “Hey woman! Still squirming, you bitch?!”

Viper lunged and clamped her mouth shut.

“Deputy Director! May we arrest this customs officer while he’s performing his duties?” “That’s acceptable.”

As the detectives proved useless, Miss screamed. "He colluded with this woman during his duties! We’ve identified his background too! Hurry! Hurry! Once they’ve hidden the stolen goods, it’ll be too late! Hurry—go restrain them now…!" "Very well, apprehend them!"

The Deputy Director barked. The two detectives rushed off. Several anxious minutes passed... Finally, the fat customs officer, flanked front and back by two detectives, arrived carrying the infamous ball-shaped box package.

“By what right do you dare commit such lawless acts—arresting a customs officer mid-inspection without cause... without any cause whatsoever?! For one holding the post of Deputy Director at the National Police Bureau, this ignorance defies comprehension! Even as we stand here, smuggling operations run rampant—who will answer for this chaos?! Outrageous! Outrageous! Very well! I shall submit a formal appeal to the Customs Director and file suit with the Administrative Court! This constitutes the gravest insult imaginable—even for the National Police Bureau!”

“There’s no need for you to get so worked up. I must clarify—we have not arrested you.”

the Deputy Director calmed him. “Due to urgent and unavoidable circumstances regarding this woman’s interrogation, we asked you here to show us the contents of that ball-shaped box you took away.” “Then didn’t I say—since the contents are contraband—that I’d temporarily keep it at customs?!” “Didn’t I already tell this woman to disembark at the next station and come to customs?!” “And you’re talking as if I’m some loose cannon conspiring with her!”

“Ralf! Never mind that—just check the ball-shaped box!”

Unable to endure any longer, Miss ordered Viper. Having given the order, she planted herself in front of the customs officer. “You claim to act as though you and this lady are complete strangers, but given that you came to work at customs through this lady and her husband’s arrangements, we can hardly believe you’re mere strangers to her.” “That’s precisely why we asked you here. …Ralf! What are you doing?” “Hurry up and check it already!”

“What?!” “That I’m not exactly a stranger to this woman…?”

“Is that not the case? You’re still feigning ignorance, aren’t you, Mr. Mogens Norby!” “…………” The customs officer’s complexion abruptly changed. “Until March of last year, what may I ask were you doing? May I ask if you were serving as His Highness Prince Philip’s—Prince Sven Philip’s—steward? Given that through His Highness’s reforms, this lady departed from the imperial household and came to reside here, and that you came to be employed at Vesterbargen Customs through the hands of her husband, Count Peder Steensen, we can hardly believe you and this lady are complete strangers.”

“…………”

In the meantime, Viper extracted the music box from the spherical case. "Look, Boss! This thing's a counterfeit, just like I figured!" "See? The back's gotta have a matching brass lid... and... look, here's the lid." "Now if ya open this lid, it should be packed full with cotton... see?" "See? This one's exactly how I said too!" Following Viper's instructions, they twisted off the lid and removed the cotton—only to find no machinery inside as expected, but rather the clock's inner mechanisms completely removed. Wrapped in more cotton lay diamonds, sapphires, and rubies so dazzling they seemed to stab the eyes—some stones weighing one, two, three, even four or five carats. ...And scattered pieces of a disassembled platinum chain...

“Oh! The necklace!”

“These must be Mrs. Bjorge’s!” “We’ll need to assemble them to be certain, but that seems likely!” “Then both the Sea Serpent and Mrs. Bjorge’s bracelet must still be at the Count’s mansion.”

Of course, they opened the two travel suitcases as well, but as expected, not a trace of jewels could be seen in these. “Don’t struggle!”

The Deputy Director’s roar thundered through the air. “Very well—the criminal evidence is clear.” “Mr. Aame，put handcuffs on the lady!” “And while we’re at it，I’ll have you handcuffed as well.”

At that moment in the midnight darkness, lights glimmered as the train switched several points and finally entered the grounds of West German Flensburg Station. Should they dawdle now, even the crucial Count might escape to gods-know-where. To swiftly raid the Count’s mansion with the Countess and customs officer in tow, the group resolved to disembark here. Of course, the young lady harbored no desire to parade her intuition before others—let alone her detective skills! Yet the evidence of collusion against customs officer Mogens Norby—who had conspired with the Count’s family to exploit temporary customs confiscation as the perfect blind for smuggling stolen goods abroad—remained pitifully thin on this alone. She needed to cement it irrefutably.

“Deputy Director-sir, when we exit the station grounds, there should be one automobile prepared in that area. Please escort these people there.” As the young lady had inferred, there in the dimly lit shade of the trees, a brand-new Renault sat parked, as if awaiting its passengers. Before the circle formed by the handcuffed, corpulent Norby; the Countess; the detectives surrounding them; the Deputy Director; and Viper—a conversation began between the seemingly earnest driver, who had been suppressing a yawn in the driver’s seat, and Miss.

“Driver sir, there’s no mistake that this is a Vesterbargen Customs vehicle?” “Y-yes, that’s correct, Miss!” “You have nothing to worry about since you know nothing. All you need to do is answer my questions truthfully and honestly! Due to certain circumstances, the people here with us are the Deputy Director of the National Police Bureau… and detectives. Now then, before that, let’s have you state your name.”

The name was Kai Hansen, residing at such-and-such address... The detective jotted it down in a notebook. "Now then, Mr. Hansen—please tell us truthfully. Who asked you to wait here tonight?" "It's Mr. Mogens Norby. "...Isn't he standing right over there?" As the driver pointed, Mr. Norby—now in handcuffs—hurriedly turned his face away. "And where did Mr. Norby tell you to go?"

“He said something about going to Kempelshof Airfield up ahead…” “Other than that, did he say anything else?” “He said there’s someone coming from Kyobenham on the 8:15 train or so, and since I had to take that person to the airfield, I was told to have the car ready in time.” “I see, I understand perfectly.” “But were you told anything about which plane to take or such matters?”

“Well, nothing in particular… Oh, right! He said there’s a passenger plane departing at 8:40 for Montevideo via Rio de Janeiro, and we had to make sure to catch it—or something like that, I think.” “Thank you, Mr. Hansen. That will be all.” “How far is it from here to the airfield?” “Well… about ten miles, perhaps? Maybe a bit more?” “Mr. Hansen, you may go home now. Since the guest won’t be coming due to circumstances, you may leave.” “Ah, wait a second—I need you to sign this.”

One of the detectives had recorded the previous exchange. Having him sign to confirm there were no discrepancies in the statement, the driver tilted his head repeatedly with a puzzled expression before departing—now it had become clear where the Countess had planned to escape to. “Well now, Mr. Norby and Countess! Do you still claim this was a legitimate temporary customs seizure?” “Do you still insist this constitutes a legitimate temporary customs seizure?” The customs officer had turned completely pale and was thoroughly cowed, but the Countess—who should have been demure—revealed her true nature as the daughter of a metalworker and laundress; though handcuffed, her mouth alone remained sharp as she raged and raged!

"You vixen! You really fed me that load of lies, damn you! Did you think I didn't know you were a detective from the start?! You misbegotten dirt farmer's whelp, you feeble mutt!" Such was her tirade. They laughed and paid her no mind, but now, like oiled paper set ablaze, she bristled her hair, exposed her thighs, stomped her feet, and glared with upturned eyes. "Ah, how galling! What am I to do with this woman?! Did you lot misjudge Senator Count Steensen? The Count is royalty! He's royalty through and through—the younger brother of His Majesty the King and Prince Philip! The Prime Minister, the Interior Minister, the Police Commissioner—do you think any of that shit exists?! And when that time comes, don't you bastards dare grovel at my feet with your apologies! You in-heat police bitch!"

Can one’s countenance really change to this extent?! As though frozen in terror, her hair disheveled, she bore the visage of a wrathful demon.

Count Peder Steensen

How many hours had passed since then when the group stormed the Count’s mansion—presenting these irrefutable living witnesses: the Countess, exhausted from her raging, and customs officer Norby trailing behind—to persuade him to leave the country peacefully? I recalled it was around that time when the gentle midday sun was dancing in full splendor over the second-floor windows of the grand white-stuccoed count’s mansion beside the Glyptotek museum, across its spacious front garden, and even beyond the Renaissance-style colonnade into the rear courtyard visible in the distance. When we got out of the car and approached the entrance, I felt as though someone’s dark shadow was staring down intently at us through a second-floor window.

“We are from the National Police Bureau.” “Please wait a moment.” The servant who had withdrawn soon returned. “His Lordship will arrive shortly. Ladies and gentlemen, please wait here.” They were ushered into an antechamber where the Count soon emerged with resounding footsteps. Indeed, it had been the Count who had been gazing down intently when we entered earlier. He must have already sensed everything from the atmosphere. Immaculately groomed with neatly combed hair and a trimmed mustache beneath his nose, his somewhat portly figure matched exactly what we had ascertained from prior photographic records—unmistakably the Count.

If one were to meet this man without prior knowledge—given his piercing gaze, his oblong face, his height, his bearing—if not for the mustache beneath his nose, one might very well mistake him for Prince Philip. To such a degree was he the spitting image of Prince Philip as seen in photographs.

But even if their faces were similar, this man lacked any trace of nobility. Though he forcibly maintained a dignified posture, his eyes constantly shifted about, giving an impression of unrelenting wariness. What's more, despite his slight corpulence, his entire bearing evoked the supple agility of a leopard—indeed! There was something about him that inspired such comparisons. By this time, following their operational plan, National Police Bureau officers had likely secured every exit of the Count's residence and all major intersections in the town. What appeared to be reinforcements—seven or eight plainclothes officers—entered from behind the group with pistols at the ready.

“Count!” “As you can see.”

The Deputy Director stepped forward. “Even if I say nothing, you must already understand.” “Considering your status, we will not resort to rough methods.” “Please comply calmly with our instructions.” “What on earth are you talking about? I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re saying.” “With all this pomp, do you intend to have me bound?!” the Count muttered in a low voice. “Count, we will not arrest you.” “A royal decree for your expulsion has been issued.” “If you comply with our procedures and withdraw calmly, that will suffice.”

"..." In silent resolve, the Count stood rigidly, biting his lip.

“I shall now relay the contents of the imperial edict.” “Boarding location: Nyborg Port. Boarding must be completed within three hours of this notification. Destination is at your discretion…” The customs officer was hanging his head, but—

“You! “You! “You should do something already! “Tell these wretches what to do already! “Outrageous… absolutely outrageous!” The Countess raised her handcuffed hands and flew into a rage once more. “Haven’t I been subjected to such humiliation… such humiliation! “Wouldn’t it be better if you just declared your royal blood to these wretches already?! “Disgusting! To be caught by these lowly officials and subjected to such humiliation—”

“Shut up, you’re insufferable! It’s because you’re an idiot that you ended up in this mess! Stop your blathering! What’s this disgraceful display now of all times?”

The Count bellowed.

“Indeed I am royalty! No matter what anyone says, there’s no doubt I’m royalty! I’m Prince Oscar III’s own son! But there’s no use explaining such things to these lowly underlings.”

The Count closed his eyes and groaned. “After saying all that… now you’re trying to lay all the blame on me alone?” “Aren’t you equally guilty?!” “Quickly! Tell these wretches to remove my handcuffs at once!” “Disgusting, disgusting, having these things clamped on me!” “Shut up, you idiot woman!” “You’re the one who messed up and sneakily led these wretches in here!” “What right do you have to make a scene now?!”

Burning with fury and loathing, the Count's eyes regarded his own wife as though she were a sworn enemy. "Very well! Life resembles a game of chance... I shall acknowledge this throw of dice as my defeat!" "This time, I have been thoroughly bested by you gentlemen!" "Hahahahaha!" He suddenly burst into mad laughter. "I accept! If exile you decree, then exile I shall embrace!" "I remain Count Steensen!" "I shall not disgrace myself with undignified theatrics like that woman at this final hour."

“Then, Count, we will now inspect your person.”

A couple of detectives gathered around, but there was nothing more they could do. Standing rigidly with his arms held horizontally in the pockets of his Western-style trousers and coat, the Count allowed himself to be searched. There was no sign he was carrying any weapons.

“You’re utterly contemptible, you spineless coward!” “All that grand talk—and what’s this pitiful state you’re in?!” “You disgrace of a man!” “Who was it that said, ‘Be my accomplice! Enjoy all the glory and splendor you want! I’m His Majesty the King’s brother!’ bragging all year long?!” “You womanizing cur!” “How dare you! How dare you deceive people like this!” “Shut your mouth!” And once again, the Count bellowed. “You lot could never understand a man’s feelings!” “What’s this? You’re the one who’s an idiot and screwed up, yet you’ve gone and ruined my plans too!”

Once again, the Count’s eyes blazed.

“Very well, all the stolen goods are here. “Here stands the world’s biggest fool—whose escape plans and everything else were ruined by that idiot woman. “However, this biggest fool won’t put on some cowed act at this critical juncture. “I shall present everything for your inspection, gentlemen. “However, before that—”

Once again, the Count turned his eyes hatefully toward the Countess. They were eyes that could not be called cruel or brutal—cold, like a snake's.

“First, you should remove that woman. “An eyesore! “Take that noisy woman away at once! Gonzarez, open that door!” Grrr! Damn you! Damn you! The Countess, gnashing her teeth and raging, and the customs officer were dragged out by two or three detectives. Beyond the door opened by Gonzarez—a flustered mixed-race man who seemed to have come from South America or somewhere—lay a room even larger than this one, where five or six armchairs encircled a grand central table. Indeed, had everyone arrived just a moment later, the Count might well have finished making his escape as he claimed. On the grand table sat two large travel suitcases, with lap blankets placed beside them.

“Gentlemen, behold!” The Count unlocked it and briskly removed his change of clothes and undergarments—beneath lay cotton-wrapped dazzling diamonds, sapphires, rubies, opals, topazes, turquoises, garnets, emeralds… a mountain of jewels! Gold and platinum were also packed to the brim, dazzlingly. “Without haste—now, take a seat! To save you gentlemen the trouble, I will explain where they came from. And there are a few things I wish to say as well. Gonzarez! Bring champagne. Why don’t we offer a glass to all of you as well!”

“Count, we will be conducting a search of the premises, so I would ask that you keep your explanation as brief as possible.”

Unable to bear it any longer, the Deputy Director interjected.

“We are not here on leisure, so we will accept nothing.” “Come now, no need for such stiffness. Why not settle yourselves more comfortably?” “If you gentlemen aren’t facing some petty thief, perhaps you might show more respect for your counterpart’s sentiments.” “Since you refrain from crude talk of arrests, I’m offering to spare you the trouble.” “Step forward quietly!” “Everything lies disassembled.” “The foremost piece was procured from the Hemmel family in 1946.” “The one above it—”

Of course, no one was taken in by the Count’s theatrically overblown words. Yet upon hearing “the Hemmel family,” they instinctively peered into the travel suitcase, pistols at the ready. Gonzarez circulated with champagne. “Now, gentlemen! Raise your glasses! There exists the Last Supper of Christ—but this shall be Count Steensen’s farewell banquet before exile! Ha ha ha ha!”

Only his forced laughter rang out hollowly, and of course, none of them reached for the poured wine glasses. The Count stood rigidly alone at the host’s seat, merely raising his wine glass. But at that moment—

“It’s done!”

Something came into the young lady’s view. Quickly, quickly! Like a heat haze or lightning—no sooner had he produced a paper package from his inner pocket than the Count was already gulping down liquor with a gulp. “Next to it, the silver one is the Sea Serpent’s base. The diamonds are placed at its right end. Hey, you there—the male-attired beauty! You appear to be this affair’s star performer—step forth quietly! Show your face properly and take a good look! The Sea Serpent Necklace you’re after is glittering right there! There... You can see it there, can’t you?”

There was no helping it now that she had been spotted. The spot where the young lady had stepped forward was directly beneath a bronze statue; there loomed an enormous nude female figure so large one had to crane their neck upward to see it all.

“There is also the Blanche family’s necklace. “Count Steensen’s painstaking collection has been utterly ruined, thanks to your kindness.” “I shan’t forget this kindness—especially yours, Madam!” “And yours—your kindness!” The moment the Count’s eyes glinted sharply over the young lady, his right hand—which had been stealthily inching backward—touched the bell on the pillar. It happened precisely as she leapt back. Creak-creak-creak-creak—Crash! Boom!! With a ground-shaking rumble, the bronze statue behind her collapsed. A cloud of sand and dust swirled up thickly. Had she noticed even one second later, her body would have been shattered into dust and her brains scattered.

“What the hell are you doing?! You wretch!”

“You heaven-spared harlot!” In that instant, the Count’s countenance transformed completely. “You damned whore! How dare you—how dare you meddle with my work! Did you think I didn’t know you were Ingrid Aines?! How dare you—how dare you entrap my wife! This grudge I’ll never forget!”

But with pistols pointed at him from both sides and his hands raised, the Count’s words grew increasingly disordered. “You government dogs are barking up the wrong tree!” “I have Conservative Party leader Amundsen behind me, I tell you!” “There’s the Danish Royal Family itself, I tell you!” “Keep up this absurd charade and I won’t let it slide—I tell you!” “Insolent... you...” “That’s strange!” “His speech is getting slurred!” “I drank poison—just now.”

“You drank poison?” “You there—call a doctor immediately!” “A doctor!” “Leave me...!” “This... is safer... No need... for doctors...” “Listen well... you curs! “The true villain... is Philip... Sven... Philip...”

As the poison must have finally taken full effect, his raised hands trembled violently, and intense agony appeared on his face. By now, his consciousness had already grown quite clouded.

“The true villain...is Philip. “What royal brother? That’s horseshit!” “By rights...hh, by rights...I...I am the royal brother!” “Though I am the rightful son of Oscar III… To die at your hands because of my father’s misdeeds… I won’t forget… This grudge—I shall never forget it for eternity…”

There was no longer any need to keep their pistols trained on him. The moment one of them lowered his pistol, the Count clawed frantically at his throat with both hands. His necktie tore loose, shirt buttons popped off, and now even those hands were feebly flailing through the air. “Gh... Hurts... Let me drink... Wa... water...”

After staggering two or three steps—perhaps deeming it no sight for a woman to behold—someone stepped forward to block the young lady’s view.

“Th... the true villain... is Hendel... the King... ev... everyone... made me... an outcast...”

With that final utterance, he stared wide-eyed and arched backward. The person in front stepped aside—and what met the young lady’s eyes was...! There lay pale hands splayed supine… a pallid forehead… With that same dreadful visage still contorted upon his face, the Count’s breath had ceased. Someone could be seen spreading out the desk’s lap robe and draping it over the corpse. “Did he take atropine?” “Seems too quick for that… Could it be cocaine?” “It may seem cruel, but this outcome is likely a mercy for the Count as well.”

And in that moment, someone cried out loudly, “Oh—a fake mustache!” “The mustache’s coming off! Look at the mustache!” The unparalleled master of disguise had maintained his transformation until death’s very threshold. the bedside of His Late Majesty They hadn’t summoned a physician, but leaving the corpse unattended was unthinkable. After contacting the Board of Inquest and as mortuary attendants arrived to load the body into the hearse, an exhaustive search of the premises began. With two senior servants assisting, they scoured every floor and basement corner for two relentless hours—what ultimately drew astonished admiration was the Count’s labyrinthine network of mechanisms.

The wall of the second-floor bedroom had been converted into a revolving panel; passing through the pitch-dark staircase beyond it led to the basement. A path led up to the second floor from beside the coal storage, and removing the thick iron plate within the fireplace of the downstairs parlor revealed yet another hidden passage—a stone tunnel beneath the spacious grounds forming an unexpected escape route all the way to the distant back gate. Climbing the slope beside that back gate brought one to a stone-reinforced tunnel exit at the corner of the main building’s inner courtyard flower garden, though its purpose remained unclear. When in the world—and by whom—had these been constructed? And to their astonishment, the entire estate had been transformed into an endless labyrinth.

However, he must have packed all the stolen goods into the travel suitcase intending to flee, but as expected, what they uncovered were only evidence items—precious metals excluded. Likely used for disguises were long sideburns extending to the cheeks; a dragoon captain’s chartreuse military uniform identical to Prince Philip’s; decorative sashes; boots; swords; women’s corsets—though their dimensions differed from those intended for the Countess. Similarly, this too—clothing for a sixty-year-old woman clearly not meant for the Countess, and a multitude of women’s shoes!

Amidst every conceivable variety of miscellaneous disguise tools, there finally emerged—from Drager Duke Mansion—a middle schooler’s short coat, long Western-style trousers, and matching shoes likely used when disguised as young Johannes… Though the Countess was twenty-four, when brand-new garments that could make her appear nineteen or twenty came to light, they all couldn’t help but raise a cheer. For this had brought to mind several difficult cases—the Himmel family, the Wessel family, and others—that remained unsolved labyrinths to this day. And finally, they managed to break open the heavily secured lock of the underground secret chamber—likely used as a workshop for dismantling stolen necklaces and bracelets—which even the servants had reportedly been unable to approach.

As expected, it resembled at first glance a blacksmith’s forge or a watchmaker’s workshop—countless metalworking tools, bellows, small electric furnaces, and more—built behind the mirror stand in the Countess’s parlor. Just as at Drager Duke Mansion, they searched the hidden safes within the walls and even the one concealed behind bookshelves in the Count’s study, but by now, not a single gem or precious metal remained. Yet amidst that untouched chaos, when Ralf the Viper pried open the first-floor vault downstairs, everyone once again gathered around and raised cries of astonishment at the Count’s unrelenting villainy.

“In these eyes of mine, there ain’t no mistake! “There ain’t no way this could be wrong!” No wonder the Viper had struggled so mightily to pry it open—given how confidently he’d done it! The entire inner wall of this massive vault had been hollowed into a cavity, from which now cascaded a mountain of white powder—none other than heroin hydrochloride. It remained unclear whether the Count had been a habitual user or the Countess an addict, but five or six luggage tags for Uruguay and Montevideo were affixed to this vault.

Taking into account that the plane the Countess was supposed to board from Kempershof Airport had been a Lufthansa flight bound for Montevideo, it was conclusively determined that Count Steensen’s intended escape destination too was Montevideo. In any case, with heroin costing two thousand kroner per ounce and in such vast quantities, while the value of the jewels was no small matter, the price of this narcotic alone must have reached an astronomical sum—tens of millions, hundreds of millions of kroner.

“With people like this around, detectives can’t afford to let their guard down.” “It’s like both sides are racing against each other.” The Deputy Director stood dumbfounded, glancing back at the young lady as he lingered there—when,

“There’s something here… It’s written here! Written here!… Miss, take a look at this… There’s something here!” With that, the detective presented a letter addressed to the Count—though from where he had procured it remained unclear. It was densely covered in handwritten script. The margins—or rather, the back of the paper—had likely been used by the Count as a substitute for a memorandum, with pencil notations of dismantled quantities: thirty-two pearls on March 25; eighteen diamonds and twelve rubies on April 18; twenty-three diamonds and twenty-two ounces of platinum on June 28; and so forth. Was there no mention of a buyer somewhere? She turned it over and over, examining both front and back, but no such thing was written there.

“What magnificent paper!” “This embossing is extraordinary… Oh! Isn’t this the royal crest?” Indeed, within the shield flanked by drapery banners lay embossed the crest of the current Glücksburg royal house—lion, crown, swan, phoenix, and all. Naturally so! At the end of the two densely filled pages stood the signatures: Sven Philip and His Highness Prince Philip. What could possibly be written here? As her eyes absently traversed the text, Ingrid felt an inexplicable tightness constrict her chest. Every phrase reverberated through her being. Though the first half was missing, this appeared to be the latter portion of what must have originally spanned four or five sheets.

……It was when I attended the tenth wedding anniversary soirée of Mr. Grune Bjorge on October 12 of last year—having been invited and in attendance—that I came to know you had disregarded my words and still not abandoned your abominations. I was once suddenly thanked by Madam Bjorge for what she perceived to be some prior action of mine. Of course, I have no recollection of it. But at that moment, I realized once again that you had appeared at the Bjorge residence, disguised as myself, and had acted upon Madam Bjorge in some manner.

I nonchalantly smoothed over the situation then, but the torment I suffered—how could you ever fathom it? That my own flesh-and-blood brother conspired with my servants to infiltrate my retinue, penetrate the Bjorge residence, and plot such atrocities—this truth is mine alone to bear. Neither His Majesty the Emperor nor my sister Ingeborg—let alone the public—knows I even have such a brother. Had I shown even a flicker of suspicion toward Madam Bjorge then, my innocence would have been irrefutably proven. But would that not amount to I—your elder brother—binding myself in ropes to deliver myself unto you? How could I commit such an act!

Even now, I cannot forget how sitting there felt akin to resting upon a bed of nails—how I returned from the Bjorge residence that night with a heart yearning to flee. Though the world is vast, in what land does a prince sit as chairman upon a bed of nails? Moreover, as I have now learned, you have devised even more nefarious schemes against the Drager Duke family—appearing at their residence in broad daylight under my guise, claiming to be me, and bringing along that woman whom I cannot recognize as your lawful wife despite my repeated counsel for divorce, whom you falsely present as my maid! Thus do you compound evils surpassing even those wrought at the Bjorge residence! I have no more words left to speak to you.

Even if I were to pour out a thousand words of my suffering, they would never reach your ears. At best, they would be dismissed as your unmanly elder brother’s tedious ramblings and met with scornful laughter. I too have no desire to repeat such complaints. Peder, today marks the anniversary of His Majesty our father’s passing. Seven years ago on this very day, His Majesty our father entered into eternal rest. On this occasion, I must have you recall once more that hour of His Majesty’s final departure. When His Majesty’s life already hung by a thread—uncertain whether he would last the day—and when His Majesty the Emperor, then Crown Prince, had returned with all haste; when even the court physicians had withdrawn to an adjoining chamber—it was then he summoned us alone to his bedside. You must remember—how he held you in his left hand and me in his right; how with failing strength he clasped my hand while imploring you with desperate earnestness to walk a righteous path.

Surely, you have not forgotten. Did His Majesty our father not have tears welled in his ailing eyes? "I am an old and decaying body... I do not mind dying, but only Peder remains a regret I cannot bear. When I consider his mother, who died so young, I wished above all else to guide him onto a bright path—yet in my lifetime, I could never accomplish this. Entrusting the late Chamberlain Ludvig Steensen to take Peder as his own son was born of my own cowardly nature—I feared exposing my mistake with Peder to the world, forcing him to live in obscurity. I feel deeply apologetic to Peder about this. I feel pity for Peder."

Hendel will soon assume governance of state affairs—I cannot let him hear such dark truths. He knows nothing. I wish to entrust him with rulership while he remains unaware. Ingeborg, being a woman, must eventually seek an advantageous marriage. She too knows nothing—nor shall she ever learn. The only ones privy to this are Philip and you. Though it pains me to ask what I myself failed to achieve as your father, I implore you—keep this secret close to your heart and watch over Peder's future with utmost care.

“What you do for Peder, I believe is what you would do for me, now departed. Think of your father, from beyond the grave, joining his hands in prayer to you. I implore you to manage all matters for Peder’s sake as you see fit.” You wept, but I too shed tears. Was it not the very next day that His Majesty our father departed this world! Peder, should crimes of such magnitude become known, how deeply grieved His Majesty our father’s soul would be! Today, upon the anniversary of His Majesty our father’s passing, I spent the entire day contemplating his will, lost in solemn reflection. And thus, for the honor of His Majesty our father and for His Majesty the Emperor—who remains blissfully unaware—I have resolved to grant you one final opportunity for repentance.

What I demand of you is only one thing... repentance and remorse alone! It is solely to repent your sins and return to the path of righteousness. Immediately divorce the French woman who lured you into sin, numbed your conscience, and led you into such grave crimes. Forsake luxury and idleness; sell off all mansion property. Surrender the concealed stolen goods. If you take the aforementioned measures and vow henceforth to repent, I shall bear all your sins committed to this day and apologize to society on your behalf. This is the last, greatest, and only opportunity I can grant you. Whether by fortune or misfortune, all eyes of suspicion are now directed upon me.

Peder, knowing there were those conspiring with you, I secretly dismissed most of them to sever evil at its root and spare you implication. I ordered the remaining household staff to practice ever-increasing austerity from that time onward, and even while knowing it sometimes wounded royal dignity, I enforced extreme frugality—cutting expenses to the bone. That I am now reviled by society as a miser and cannot even avoid postponing my marriage to Annemarie—this state of affairs you must know well. These funds are what I have been saving to atone for your sins.

Those preparations are now in my hands. If now—should the surrendered stolen goods prove insufficient—I add this money of mine to the funds from the mansion property you sold, renounce my position as prince, and apologize for all sins, then even your crimes may yet find redemption. The opportunity will not come again—Peder, repent at once! Repent! I shall bear your burden. What I secretly ponder in night's stillness is this: to visit your residence, take your hand in mine, and fervently implore repentance. Yet today I—having assumed the role of royal proxy for His Majesty the Emperor, my ailing brother—am bound in all matters. Moreover, reckless action from me would only breed idle gossip in alleyways and flood newspapers with baseless conjecture about you. Therefore, I entrust all to this missive. Consider this letter as my very voice speaking to you.

Your repentance is not merely my joy. The soul of His Majesty our father—who has worried and agonized over you, who loved you most dearly—will rejoice in heaven with exultation. That is the greatest filial devotion you can offer to His Majesty our father.

June 24, 1944 Your brother, who is constantly concerned for you, Sven Philip

Count Peder Steensen

When they finished reading the letter, a strange commotion—neither groan, lamentation, nor cheer—arose from underground. “Wh-what an utter villain this Count is, I tell you!” “He’s even committed murder!” “A corpse has surfaced from the basement floor right now, I say!”

As one of the detectives dashed past, he shouted loudly. "An old man's corpse...?"

"Yes, yes, he must be seventy-something years old..." "You know full well!" As if voicing that very thought, the detective's eyes widened.

“His forehead had been split open and buried beneath the floorboards, you know.” The space beneath the floor—that underground chamber functioning as the workshop mentioned earlier—was likely a secret room. She had already understood this without needing to be told. The victim was undoubtedly that elderly former royal tutor who had entered this mansion four or five days prior and subsequently vanished—the very man Ebbe had reported missing. Now that she had read His Highness’s letter, everything became clear—this tutor had never been a mere intermediary. Exploiting old connections to move between His Highness and the Count, he must have funneled every detail of the Prince’s activities to the Count while conspiring with him.

When I met him at the club some time ago and he said he was going to see a woman in Argentina, that had been a blatant lie—he must have intended to flee to Montevideo with the Count instead. And over some dispute about his share or similar matter with the Count, he had ultimately been killed by him. Compared to those matters, this letter was far more significant. While gazing at the letter, Miss Ingrid remained standing motionless, utterly still.

The man all Denmark admires When they speak of a letter written in blood and tears, they must be referring to this one. They say even the towers of splendor have their tears—this must be what they mean. His Highness Prince Philip’s blood and tears had seeped into every word, his gentle heart so piercingly evident that it clouded her vision.

Moreover, this man—who was His Highness’s own flesh and blood—calmly turned a blind eye to his brother’s suffering while tallying stolen goods atop that very brother’s blood and tears! What a monster! You dog-beast of an inhuman wretch! A snake-like creature who had shed every drop of human blood and scrap of human heart!

And in that moment, Miss Ingrid felt that mysterious enigma—which had resisted comprehension until now—crystallize and dissolve into clarity. It concerned how, after stealing the necklace from the Widow at Drager Mansion, he had changed into Prince Philip’s military uniform on the second floor and been seen descending by the maid Loviisa. Why go to such lengths to wear His Highness’s attire? That question had lingered as an insoluble mystery, but now finally demanded resolution. Here stood a prince of such tender conscience, yet this Count amounted to nothing more than human dregs—a cold-blooded reptile. To cast all suspicion upon His Highness, he had even staged such brazen theatrics! A base, contemptible wretch not worth three pennies! A fiend beneath human skin, lower than any rabid beast! That this man—who shared the late king’s blood yet alone remained excluded from royalty—should nurse such ceaseless bitterness, regret, and venomous envy! This must have been the asura’s delusion fueling all wickedness.

“Oh yes, such a man deserves to die! Divine punishment! Retribution swift as lightning! The wages of his own sins!” She stood rooted to the spot, trembling as if about to stamp her feet in frustration, but wave after wave of scalding heat surged up from within. She could endure no longer; remaining still had become impossible.

“Here—put this away… put it away!”

Simultaneously throwing away His Highness’s letter, she broke into a run. “Boss! Where ya goin’? If you go runnin’ off now, I tell ya, this ain’t right!” Viper came chasing after. “Where is my car? Where is it?” “If you need a car, mine is right there. Please use it, please use it,” the Deputy Director said kindly. “Let me borrow it… Let me borrow it…” Her chest tightened, and she couldn’t bring herself to speak to this person. As soon as she jumped in, she immediately stepped on the accelerator and drove toward Sægerfos Hill. Of course, she intended to meet His Highness Prince Philip—who had abandoned the splendid Mervey Palace of Furstenborg Castle and now resided in an ordinary house near the hill.

Though it paled in grandeur compared to the Count’s mansion, as befitted a royal prince’s residence it still maintained considerable spaciousness for an ordinary house—modest yet substantial. The gravel-paved slope within its gates stretched quite long, and from the roof of the two-story structure protruded three or four red-brick chimneys belonging to fireplaces.

“Excuse me, where might you be going?” “This is His Highness Prince Philip’s residence—”

The moment she rushed into the hall spread with scarlet carpeting, she was called to a halt from behind. “Your Highness… Your Highness… I must see His Highness immediately. There is something I must convey to His Highness...” “I regret to inform you that His Highness will not be receiving anyone today. There is a present complication.” “This concerns a special matter—I must see His Highness at once. Please tell him it involves Count Steensen.”

“May I ask who you are?” “I am a private detective,” she fumbled through her pocket. “Ingrid Aines… Please inform His Highness… Please…” “What message shall I convey? I shall make inquiries,” “Please wait here momentarily.” Placing the business card on a tray, the servant ascended the main staircase. As she watched his retreating figure, an unbearable agitation welled up anew within her. Though she couldn’t fathom why her heart pounded so fiercely, from the moment she had seen His Highness’s letter, a constriction had tightened her chest—as if His Highness were at this very moment attempting suicide—and now even this act of waiting filled her with an ominous premonition that she might arrive too late to prevent his death.

Unable to bear it any longer, she finally raced up the stairs. The second floor had a wide corridor branching left and right, and from the second room on the right emerged the servant who had just delivered her message. When he saw her rushing up the stairs so rudely, he frowned but opened the nearest door without a word.

“His Highness will see you.” “Please wait here for a moment.”

The number of household staff was probably not very large.

The house stood in profound silence, the room she had been ushered into evidently serving as a reception chamber. Deep black leather armchairs, various sofas, massive chandeliers, and heavy drapes—undoubtedly splendid royal furnishings—filled every corner of the space, while flames danced quietly in the fireplace. The adjacent room must have been His Highness's study. The faint scratching of a pen suggested he was occupied with writing. She remained rigidly upright, anticipating his imminent entrance, yet the agitation in her breast showed no signs of abating. Though acutely conscious of her impropriety toward one of noble station,

“Please forgive me, Your Highness!”

And at last, she threw open the heavy double doors that separated them and leapt inside.

“As time is of the essence, I must beg your forgiveness for this discourtesy.”

Her leap into the room coincided precisely with His Highness rising from the central desk where he had been writing swiftly. A chartreuse military uniform... The high collar of deep green velvet, epaulettes adorned with sashes—the oval countenance of one wearing the standard uniform of a Danish Dragoon Captain! Eyes of crystalline blue that evoked ocean depths... Thick flaxen hair spilling slightly over a pallid forehead! He stood embodying his royal lineage, dignity radiating from his bearing. Though his features bore striking resemblance to Count Steensen's, his nobility stood beyond comparison. He displayed neither shock at her abrupt entrance nor any trace of displeasure. He remained motionless, maintaining steady eye contact as he stood.

One of the velvet sleeves adorned with two arabesque patterns was now covering the paper upon which he had been writing.

“I am Ingrid Aines, a private detective residing on Vogel Street. At the request of the Drager Duke family, I conducted an investigation of Count and Countess Steensen in connection with their lost necklace. Having confessed to being the true culprit, Count Steensen has just now taken his own life.”

…………

His Highness's body appeared to shake violently. Yet, without altering his stance, he remained standing as he was. "And the Countess, having attempted to flee, was apprehended by State Police Bureau officers at Flensburg Station the day before yesterday and has been escorted back to the capital." "Since she is a French citizen, I understand that her custody will soon be transferred to the French government." "………"

His Highness nodded faintly. “All of the stolen goods have been recovered.” “All matters are to be handled in strict secrecy, as per His Excellency the Prime Minister’s instructions.” “It was to bring these matters to your attention that I came without waiting for an announcement… Please forgive my discourtesy.” The deep anguish in his heart was so piercingly etched upon his pallid face that it seemed it might seep through his very skin, yet His Highness did not so much as stir, only nodding deeply once or twice. And then, for the first time, he tilted his well-shaped head and stared fixedly at the fireplace flames before casting the half-written paper into the fire.

“Your Highness! I must beg your forgiveness once more for this discourtesy.”

And she hurriedly picked up the note. The fire had not yet caught the paper.

“I anticipated this development, which is why I rushed up without awaiting formal announcement.” “There is no longer any need for such documents.” She unfolded the paper toward His Highness. Though skimming a noble’s private correspondence remained profoundly improper, circumstances now rendered such delicacies irrelevant. What leapt to her eyes were the opening lines— ……At this juncture, no words remain to be spoken.

Peder! Atone for this disgrace through death! For the royal family's honor—you who betrayed our father's sacred trust—behold your brother making amends through death! Commit suicide this instant and expiate your crimes...

“It was precisely because I feared this would happen that I came rushing here. There is no longer any need for such letters whatsoever. Please burn it properly now.” She threw it into the fireplace. Instantly catching fire, it blazed up fiercely. “Forgive my impertinence, Your Highness, but please relinquish your pistol. His Excellency Prime Minister Schlegel has also instructed that this matter be handled in strict secrecy—for the sake of both the late king’s honor and His Majesty the King’s honor. Everything has already come to an end.”

Silently, His Highness took out the pistol from his pocket and placed it in the drawer. And at last, he took his seat. “I believe I addressed you as ‘Miss Ingrid.’ “I am sincerely grateful for your kindness.” “You must have endured such hardships over this long period—I can well imagine.” “My hardships are trivial matters not worth mentioning. “You, on the other hand, must have gone through considerable trouble. “Please take a seat. Now, I wish to hear the full details of the matter.”

Perhaps intending to summon a servant, he pressed the bell on the desk. For what felt like her first true breath since beginning this wretched affair, Miss let out a deep, deep sigh. The fact that, due to pursuing the Countess the day before yesterday, she had to have handcuffs put on her by State Police Bureau officers. And she recounted how she had arrived in the capital this morning and proceeded to the Count’s residence, as well as the circumstances that had finally led to the Count’s suicide, but she refrained from mentioning how the Count had attempted to kill her as a last-ditch act.

As I gazed upon His Highness's noble, dignified, and youthful face—still pale yet earnestly nodding at every word—it was no wonder Danish maidens found their hearts aflutter! I couldn't help but feel this deeply.

Oh, thank goodness! Now that Your Highness's innocence had been proven, and with the money soon to come from the Duke family I could repay all of Father's debts, I thought how pleased Father would surely be—but even as I thought this, it struck me that if only Father were still alive, I wouldn't have to be stuck in this wretched trade...

“You wouldn’t have to be in this wretched trade… What do you mean?”

When he posed the question, she hesitated for a moment— “I thought how happy I would surely be if I could be more ladylike—perhaps even applying rouge and powder—and serve as Your Highness’s dance partner instead.” Had all members of the customs ring been apprehended? And what had the French government done with the Countess? There were many things I wanted to ask, but forgetting to voice them, I found myself simply gazing at the young lady’s face.

Whether there was a flower garden or not, the scent of freesias wafted in through the open window.