Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface

“At that time, I was living with my mother in my late father’s house on Vogel Street in the working-class district. One morning in early April—though there was still snow lingering in the shadows, with Milza flowers blooming through it—it might actually have been closer to late March.” One morning, a splendid Hispano-Suiza luxury car stopped in front of the office, and a stern-faced elderly butler with sideburns came to visit. “He said he was from the Dragen Ducal Family of Central Park—that they had a request—and that Her Ladyship was waiting, so would I be so kind as to come at once. That was the message he delivered.”

And Miss Ingrid Ines began to speak. To begin writing from that point would have been simple enough—but then readers would have had no idea what it concerned. So who exactly was this Miss Ingrid Ines? This matter must first be explained. Do you recall Asta Nielsen—the actress celebrated as Saintwood’s generational genius—from some thirty years past around 1924-25? Though born in Germany as her name suggests she hailed from Denmark.

Miss Nielsen was particularly renowned for her role as Countess Julia in Strindberg’s play, but if I were to say that the moment I first met Miss Ines reminded me of that Miss Nielsen, perhaps the reader might grasp something of this woman’s beauty—especially her intellectual allure, the wavy golden hair at her temples, and though her gaze held a touch of melancholy, the overall endearing charm redolent of youth and health that made one want to embrace her.

Could this truly be the twenty-seven-year-old woman detective now celebrated throughout Denmark—nay, whose very name resounded across Europe? I found myself repeatedly compelled to widen my eyes in astonishment... and having said this, I trust you now grasp the matter clearly. In other words, the young lady was none other than Denmark’s most renowned female detective.

About two years prior, when I had extended a trip to France to visit three Nordic countries and stopped in Denmark—partly at the request of the police department—I frequently had opportunities to meet with the young lady. When I visited her house near the famous Gentofte Forest at the edge of Nürnberg Street in Copenhagen’s uptown district, the display cabinet filling the wall to the right of the fireplace mantel in the parlor was haphazardly crammed with medals, commendations, and insignia gifted by government agencies and private companies.

Inside was one gorgeous, strikingly eye-catching, valuable ornament. On a thick silver base about ten inches wide, an intricate necklace had been carved, with several small genuine diamonds inlaid to form its loop. Atop the loop of the necklace, within a bronze plaque gripped by a large eagle, was engraved: “With profound gratitude—To Miss Ingrid Ines, from the Dragen Ducal Family.” “Oh, this is magnificent! This is splendid!” I exclaimed in admiration, scrutinizing it from every angle as I gazed—but just what was this Dragen Duke? When I asked,

“Please look at the date—it’s from quite some time ago.” She seemed reluctant to touch this ornament for some reason. The date was 1948—it appeared to be approximately four years prior to my visit.

This story—which I now endeavor to structure into a coherent narrative—originates from that moment when, despite my relentless grilling about every detail, she at first displayed a tinge of shame and hesitation, but eventually relented with a wry smile and recounted everything in full. And so, allow me to add just this much.

Sea Serpent Necklace After finishing her meal, the young lady promptly had the car take her to the ducal residence. After all, when it came to Duke Dragen, his was a family of undisputed renown across all of Denmark. The family held vast farmlands in northern Jutland toward Skagen, and Duke Frederik Dragen, two generations prior, had indeed served as Prime Minister. The late former Duke Knud Dragen had also served as Commerce Minister, 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 Dragen, he was a great nobleman known to all and a man of immense wealth. On King’s Hill beside Central Park stood a palatial mansion resembling a royal castle. After passing through the iron gates of the main entrance emblazoned with the family crest, one encountered stone-carved lions lining both sides, a lawn so vast it resembled an endless carpet, and a path flanked by towering ferns that stretched endlessly.

Gazing at the picturesque arboretum ahead, she soon arrived at a towering grand entrance where imposing trees arched over from both sides to form a natural green archway. There, a servant clad in gold-trimmed ceremonial livery guided her to a magnificent parlor. Before long, the Dowager Duchess Knud Dragen—the former Commerce Minister’s widow addressed as the Grand Lady—entered the room. The plump widow in her fifties carried herself with the imposing stature befitting a noble matriarch of great lineage—yet her complexion appeared unnervingly sallow and lifeless.

“Are you Miss Ingrid Ines?” “I must apologize for summoning you so abruptly, but there’s a matter I must urgently entrust to you... The truth is, our necklace fell victim to theft last night.”

Such was her opening salvo.

“Oh! The Sea Serpent? That Sea Serpent Necklace was stolen?” Startled, the young lady took a step forward. When it came to the Dragen Ducal Family’s Sea Serpent Necklace, its name had resounded across all of Denmark long before the family’s own reputation—no, not merely domestically! As an object of envy for jewel connoisseurs, its fame may well have echoed throughout 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,” she replied. “It has simply been called that since time immemorial. They say an ancestor of the ducal family distinguished himself in military service around the mid-nineteenth century and received it from someone like Sigismund VI of Sweden.” “Since then,” she concluded, “it has remained the family’s peerless heirloom.”

It was reputed that from the smallest stones of 0.65 and 0.85 carats to larger ones spanning one, two, four, and even ten carats, over a hundred diamonds had been set into an intricate platinum chain sculpted into two intertwined sea serpents. It could not possibly be converted into a market price, but if one were forced to do so, it was rumored to be worth somewhere between seventy to eighty million krone to nearly one hundred million krone.

“Do sit down.” The dowager duchess pointed to the chair there. As she settled her obese frame into a chair,

“Because I have certain considerations in mind, I have not yet reported this to the National Police Bureau, the Municipal Police Department, or anywhere else. Since we maintain some connection with the royal family, we would not wish to inconvenience the royal household over such a matter.”

she came out with a peculiar remark. “However, what was stolen must be recovered no matter what.” “I cannot deny that relying on a lady detective leaves me somewhat uneasy, but I have decided to place my full trust in you here.” So it begins! The young lady gave a wry smile. While the theft of the one hundred million krone necklace must undoubtedly be a blow to the ducal family, there could be no more unpleasant insult to her than being told that relying on a lady detective made them uneasy.

"If you required such a dependable detective, you could have commissioned some earless, noseless ex-pugilist instead!" And she found herself wanting to voice at least one sarcastic remark. "It’s not as though I became a detective out of some peculiar fondness for being a woman, you know." "It’s not as though I feel any particular significance in this work... It’s just... my father passed away, you see."

For a moment, the young lady faltered. “After all, my father—who was a detective—left behind so many debts when he died that this job seemed the only way to repay them… And before I knew it, I’d ended up with this wretched license and all.”

With a somewhat bashful air and a touch of melancholy, she turned the inside of her jacket out to show them. There, along with a pistol use permit, glittered brilliantly a small silver detective badge—issued by the Danish Minister of the Interior—that combined a crown, lion, and swan. “Given these circumstances, I would ask you to exert your utmost efforts… How does that sound? We have some leads of our own, but you do have the confidence to retrieve it for us, don’t you?”

“Well, unless I hear the full account, I cannot give a definitive answer… but I shall do everything within my power.” “Such a vague response as ‘doing everything within my power’ is most unsatisfactory.” “Whether I can or cannot, I will retrieve it... I swear.”

Her eyes beneath the swollen double chin gleamed with an inner light—a force both formidable and elusive—as if she had sprung forth from her very essence. “……How about it?” “Miss Ines, can you give us your clear commitment?” “Then Madam,” came Ingrid’s resolute reply as she straightened her posture ever so slightly, “I shall take full responsibility… But first I must hear every detail of this incident.”

“It is we who must earnestly request your attention to one matter.” At the ducal estate, in honor of Duke Henrik Dragen’s 25th birthday celebration, approximately 170 to 180 acquaintances had been invited last night for an evening banquet. “From the royal family, His Highness Prince Sven Philip graced us with his presence as His Majesty the King’s representative…” The moment she heard “His Highness Prince Philip,” she started, her expression darkening. But she hurriedly feigned ignorance and continued listening attentively. The banquet, centered around His Highness Prince Philip, had begun at 7:30 PM and concluded at 10:00 PM. Following that, the event transitioned to a dance party from 10:00 PM to 11:30 PM, and it was thought that all guests had departed a little past midnight. After the guests had left, she retired to her second-floor bedroom and attempted to store the necklace in the vault—but when she removed it...

“When could such a counterfeit have been substituted? I simply cannot comprehend it.” “Before the guests arrived… Let me see—from around seven o’clock, I stood at the hall entrance welcoming them. So when I changed into my kimono and took the necklace from the vault, it must have been about half past six.” “At that moment, it was unquestionably the genuine Sea Serpent.” “When I removed it… No, even after removing it, I still hadn’t realized.” “When trying to return it to the vault, I noticed something odd about the sensation against my palm. Upon thorough examination—whether in color or form—it proved to be a counterfeit bearing no resemblance whatsoever.” “To think I wore such a thing while greeting all those guests—I feel so mortified I could vanish into thin air!”

The obese dowager duchess concluded with evident bitterness.

“This is the counterfeit.”

With evident irritation, she opened the paper package resting at the edge of the table and showed its contents. It is said that glass captures the true essence of diamonds better than any imitation gemstone could, and indeed, every stone set into the platinum chain was nothing but glass beads. However, sparkling and trailing radiance, the worthless glass beads looked quite splendid. Whether in color and luster or precision, the culprit must have prepared this counterfeit targeting the Sea Serpent from the very beginning. The platinum chain also depicted two intertwined serpent bodies.

Had this imposing dowager duchess worn it at the venue, anyone might have mistaken it for the genuine article. Even the lord and his wife, who saw it daily, had failed to notice until their mother began making a commotion.

“So it was during the period from 7:30 PM to 11:30 PM—from when the banquet began until the dance party concluded—that it was taken from you.” “During that time, did you happen to feel unwell and leave your seat for a while?” “Or perhaps experienced a slight dizziness or something…”

“I did not. My son and daughter-in-law were with me, so these two can attest to it.” “Did someone perhaps approach you unexpectedly?” “...Or maybe you collided with someone at a turn in the corridor?”

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.”

she added with undue emphasis on "distinguished status."

“Did you dance with anyone?”

“I have a slight diabetic tendency, and as the doctor has forbidden it, I do not dance at all.” “Even if not forbidden… well, at this age.”

A wry smile surfaced on plump cheeks.

“Then… given that the necklace you were wearing before all those distinguished guests had been stolen and replaced with a counterfeit, let us tentatively accept that as our premise for now… I shall request a more detailed account at a later time.”

With that, she decided to temporarily suspend her questioning there.

“Now then, Madam, please describe the precise appearance of the genuine necklace. In what specific aspects does this counterfeit differ from the authentic piece? How many carats were the gemstones in the heirloom, and where exactly were they positioned? Please provide these details as thoroughly as possible... Should your recollection prove insufficient, we might summon the young mistress as well. Photographs would naturally be most helpful.” “Well, we’ve no photographs taken specifically of just the necklace.”

“If there are none, then photographs featuring you, Madam, wearing the necklace will suffice.”

She needed to investigate the scene and cross-check the servants' testimonies. She called home and decided to summon two assistants, Ebbe and Oge. Before the two arrived, based on the photographs and the dowager duchess’s account, she had created a rough sketch of the stolen necklace.

Dowager Duchess

The necklace was doubled around, with a 10-carat stone at the center of the inner loop. Forming a large circle around this, the outer loop gently draped over the chest, set with 122 meticulously selected diamonds—each hailed as the finest in Europe—ranging from nine-carat and eight-carat stones down to three-, two-, and one-carat ones, all the way to 0.85 and 0.65-carat gems. The base—modeled after two sea serpents—was a thread-thin platinum chain measuring fifty-four inches in total length. The exact weight remained unknown, but the sensation when worn was completely identical to this counterfeit. "That’s precisely why she hadn’t noticed at all when it had been swapped out," the dowager duchess added. In any case, this counterfeit needed to be taken back to detect any fingerprints.

The current duke had already left for work and was absent when the Duchess appeared there. Like a princess raised in seclusion, she bore the title of Duchess in name alone after marriage—for the domineering dowager duchess managed all household affairs—leaving the Duchess and her husband to lead a doll-like existence confined to their chambers.

“That necklace—Mother truly treasures it.” “She rarely uses it, and she absolutely does not allow the servants to touch it.” “Last night, since we had guests, Her Ladyship took it out from the vault for the first time in quite a while.” “I would be so pleased if it were found quickly.”

This wouldn't do at all. She couldn't imagine obtaining any leads from this girlish young Duchess.

In any case, she decided to have someone guide her to last night’s banquet venue. “His Highness the Prince took his seat here, with Her Excellency the Wife of the American Ambassador Garnet seated next to him, and Conservative Party Chairman Amundsen next to her.” “His Excellency Foreign Minister Heiberg was seated at the adjacent seat here.”

The dowager duchess retreated to the parlor, and the aforementioned mustachioed butler who had come that morning took her place to provide a detailed explanation.

“Her Ladyship the Dowager Duchess was seated to His Highness’s left… at this very seat.” “Next to them was His Excellency Ambassador Stassen of Britain, while His Lordship was seated there… Yes, the young mistress was positioned in that area.” “I was standing around here.” “During the first appetizer course, I was over there attending to the guests with the stewards, but once we moved on to champagne, I was standing here.” “You do know the names of all the distinguished guests, correct?”

“Yes, madam. The guest registry is kept here.”

“Later, kindly have it delivered to Her Ladyship the Dowager Duchess’s presence, as I would like to examine it.” “Understood.”

She exited to the antechamber where the guests had conversed and the grand corridor before the grand dining hall. After turning down several more corridors, she was guided to the grand ballroom. These corridors were laid with expensive dark green Persian carpets, adorned here and there with benches, palms, and potted tropical plants such as agave.

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

“Then, could you show me the vault as well, for now?”

The dowager duchess reappeared.

“You’re dismissed. Go over there.”

Evidently, she didn’t want even the butler to witness the vault being opened. The dowager duchess herself moved her bovine-like bulk and took the lead. Turning at a right angle around the building they had just passed through and ascending the grand staircase to the second floor, they found themselves facing a door that had served as the living quarters of the late Duke Knud Dragen—the dowager duchess’s deceased husband and former Commerce Minister—during his lifetime. Adjacent on the right was the dowager duchess’s parlor. Passing through the cluttered furnishings—daybeds, sofas, armchairs, large desks—they reached a thick wall hollowed into a dome shape at the far side, where a heavy curtain trailed its hem. This was the dowager duchess’s bedroom. To the right of the bed, facing the window, stood a large hexagonal mirror.

And the wall diagonally behind the bed had been hollowed out by about a foot, and inside was likely a heavily secured, steel-lined fireproof facility—or so it seemed. Moreover, the vault door was concealed behind wallpaper of the same pattern, with a Chinese lacquer screen inlaid with mother-of-pearl standing before it, making it utterly impossible for anyone to detect its location. This was the duchess’s so-called vault—a concealed safe for storing jewels.

“Do sit down.” She pointed to a chair in the parlor through the vaulted arch.

“There are a few matters I wish to discuss as well.”

And so, facing the dowager duchess across those chairs, their questioning began once more.

“Pardon me, Madam—while memory lapses can happen to anyone—though you insist otherwise, might it not be that the substitution occurred within the vault… and that when you believed it genuine and put it on, it was already a counterfeit?”

“I can assert clearly any number of times—when I changed into my evening gown and went downstairs, it was undoubtedly genuine.” “Having seen it for so many years, there’s absolutely no possibility of me mistaking it.”

“From when Madam descended downstairs until the guests’ departure was a mere four hours. To think the necklace you wore could have been swapped before their very eyes would require sorcery-like skill—something inconceivable under normal circumstances.” “Might it not have been exchanged within the vault instead?” “There is absolutely no mistake, Miss Ines!” “If your doubts persist, shall I show you conclusive proof?”

Solving such insolvable mysteries was precisely a detective's duty! As if to say exactly that, a scornful half-smile surfaced on the Dowager Duchess's lips.

“Please come here once again.” They entered behind... When **the dowager duchess** opened...

“Now listen carefully, Miss Ines! There’s nothing unusual about this part. But should anyone touch this inner door, an electric current runs through it—causing alarm bells to ring simultaneously in six locations throughout the mansion. Though I cannot disclose their exact positions even to you.” A sly glint crossed the dowager duchess’s features. “Hidden somewhere within these two rooms is a switch known only to me. When retrieving or storing items, I disable it before opening the door—this ensures the alarms never sound. Does this satisfy your doubts? To this day, not once have those bells disturbed our peace.”

Though she couldn’t take the words entirely at face value, when the duchess insisted so vehemently, she had no choice but to tentatively accept her claim for the time being. The vault showed no particular signs of being pried open, but she obtained permission to at least apply fingerprint detection powder to its door.

In any case, if the dowager duchess's words were to be taken at face value, it would mean that while she was entertaining those distinguished guests, the 100 million krone necklace around her neck had transformed into worthless glass beads right before everyone's eyes—but since such an utterly preposterous scenario could not possibly exist, here the young lady's line of questioning shifted its form. "When you examined the counterfeit... though it couldn't be discerned from surface observation alone... did you feel that only someone intimately familiar with the treasure could create such a replica, given these minute details—the fastening of the clasp at the back, or how the glass was set?"

One might describe the dowager duchess as having laughed with an “Ohohohoho,” but this haughty woman—a physically imposing figure who could put men to shame with her stature—produced laughter that resounded ambiguously between masculine and feminine tones, morphing into something like “Ohoaha.” “Ohoahaha! This counterfeit wasn’t crafted with such care at all, Miss Ines! As it was when we had guests present, I was rather preoccupied—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? Hadn’t you already identified a solid suspect for the culprit?!" Her impatience—as though she might as well have shouted it aloud—was blatantly written across her cheeks. “Then, regarding the difference between the genuine article and the counterfeit… Are you asserting that merely having seen Madam wear it once or twice would be sufficient to craft such a replica?”

“Precisely.”

“If an object with significant weight were to roughly resemble [the original]… unless someone had held it in their own hands at least once, they couldn’t have gauged it properly, could they?”

“That is so. However, a counterfeit of this level can be quickly made once someone has held it in their hands. It’s merely a crude imitation based on superficial observation alone.”

“Madam, do you happen to know the names of those who have expressed interest in the necklace up until today?” “Just the names of those who have taken it into their hands would suffice.”

“Well, that…”

The dowager duchess was perplexed. "We—given that everyone knows we possess such an item—have shown it to numerous people who requested to see it over the years." "For instance, Prime Minister Schlegel and Foreign Minister Heiberg have handled it—and just recently, Spanish Ambassador Espinel himself held it for inspection." Surely you don't mean to suspect such individuals? Her tone carried mocking derision—as if verbally underscoring the absurdity.

“With so many people, it’s hardly easy to recall them all, you see.”

“Then please take your time to recall and inform me later. In any case, what can be inferred from this counterfeit is—”

After thinking and thinking, she said, "A culprit of such thoroughness would not create a hastily made counterfeit through mere carelessness. This suggests they either lack detailed knowledge of the genuine article or crafted it intending that Madam wouldn't notice—if not long-term, then at least during the guests' presence." "I cannot help but feel this culprit possesses extraordinary confidence in their position—they are not someone of ordinary station."

“Th-that’s… That’s correct—precisely as you say! You truly live up to being a detective.” As if her argument had finally found validation, the strong-willed dowager duchess nodded emphatically, her hands twitching as though preparing to clap.

“That being said, there is something I need to discuss with you.” “As I mentioned earlier, I have a confidential matter to discuss.” “However, this is strictly for your reference—you must keep it confined to this occasion, and I must insist on absolute discretion.”

She lowered her voice. "You are aware of who last night’s royal representative was, I presume?" The young lady nodded.

“Your Highness Prince Philip has rather numerous rumors clinging to him—given your profession, you must naturally be aware of this, I presume?”

she pressed again.

The young lady nodded once again. “Even if he is His Highness the Prince, we did not willingly invite someone of such standing—shrouded in those abominable rumors—to our home.” "But when His Majesty’s royal representative graciously attends, could we possibly refuse?" “And yet, something like this happened immediately!” “How do you view this matter?”

“...”

“Even without solid evidence, we are certainly not suspecting His Highness at all.” “However, His Highness now stands at the center of these dreadful rumors swirling through society.” “Should that individual appear only for our necklace to vanish in such mystifying fashion—what precisely would you make of this?” “Miss Ines.”

“…”

His Highness Prince Philip and the Great Phantom Thief

It was an undeniable fact that ominous clouds gathered around His Highness. To put it plainly, His Highness the Prince was a formidable phantom thief. Nor was he some commonplace phantom thief targeting treasures worth ten or twenty million krone. The rumor permeated certain aristocratic and wealthy circles—that His Highness was a phantom thief of terrifying renown, one who targeted only the rarest gems worth tens of millions to billions of krone from noble houses and tycoons, appearing and vanishing like a specter while never revealing his true identity. Moreover, since those spreading the rumors were not the general populace but rather an exclusive privileged class of aristocrats and tycoons who prized tradition and status, the rumors neither flared up abruptly nor died out completely—it was as if they smoldered like a dying bonfire, hissing and sputtering as they lingered indefinitely.

If it were His Highness—sheltered by the monarchy’s mantle and content to observe from an elevated vantage—a counterfeit that would go unnoticed for mere hours would have sufficed. He might not have needed to create such an elaborate replica, but to immediately cast suspicion solely on His Highness Prince Philip—enveloped in dubious rumors—merely because he appeared at the scene, without a shred of evidence, was nothing short of reckless. If criminal investigations could be resolved through such simplistic reasoning, there would be no need to summon detectives at all—and likewise, detectives themselves would require none of their characteristic wisdom or discernment. Then how exactly would His Highness have stolen the necklace from someone’s neck and replaced it with a counterfeit? Even if posed this question, the dowager duchess would undoubtedly have no answer. Since public rumors dictated her assumptions, she could offer no response beyond parroting them. Setting aside further conversation with this willful dowager duchess—whose emotions burned hotter than most—Ingrid knew she must first gather concrete evidence.

Perhaps I should go examine the remaining parts of the mansion I haven’t inspected yet?

When the dowager duchess saw the young lady pondering this, she leaned forward even further, thrusting out her large knees. Her voice grew even lower. “Once, His Highness Prince Philip expressed a desire to see that necklace and paid us a visit.” “After last night’s incident occurred, I suddenly recalled that.”

It was midday on a certain clear autumn day, roughly five or six months prior. His Highness had come for a drive as far as Kitamami Street and, since he happened to pass by your residence, paid a visit. Accompanying him was an attendant—not merely handsome, but so charmingly beautiful she could be mistaken for an actress—a woman of twenty-two or three. As it was His Highness the Prince’s visit, the ducal family extended their utmost hospitality without delay, but during their pleasant conversation, as if he had suddenly recalled something, he remarked, “Ah yes, your household possesses that famous Sea Serpent Necklace.” Madam, he had seen where you wore it but had never once held it in his hands. A truly rare item indeed. “Would you not show it to me once?” His Highness had said.

Without hesitation, she promptly retrieved and presented it, but what she showed at that time was not merely the necklace. They also retrieved and presented items passed down since the Egmund Dynasty—a golden greatsword, shields, halberds, and such. It could not be thought that His Highness had his eyes particularly fixed solely on the necklace. He had often taken the necklace in hand, held it up to the sunlight, or laughingly placed it around an attendant’s neck while viewing it at public gatherings, but this was the first time he had actually held it. Its luster and shape—truly, it was a masterpiece that surpassed all he had heard! But antiques are certainly heavy things, aren’t they? His Highness exclaimed in admiration. And since he had gone to the trouble of visiting, she insisted and recommended that he stay at his leisure and join them for dinner—but he had arrived unannounced and abruptly, and glancing at his attendant as if to say such a disturbance was not his true intent, suggested, “Well then, shall we take a turn around Swan Pond before departing?” His Highness declared, and there was an instance when he departed.

At the time, she had thought nothing of it—but now that she recalled, could it be that His Highness had already set his sights on this necklace back then, preparing a counterfeit and lying in wait for an opportunity? The notion struck one as plausible—

“Moreover, now that I think about it, that maid from that time strikes me as a rather suspicious character.”

With that, the dowager duchess lowered her voice even further. “His Highness Prince Philip has been engaged to Princess Annemarie for nearly a year now, yet there remains no formal wedding date—a matter the newspapers have been making quite a stir about, as you’re no doubt aware.” “I am aware.” When she saw the nod, the dowager duchess’s eyes flashed with a knowing look.

“You see?” “That’s precisely why I believe that maid from that time was the culprit.” “There must be some fateful connection there, I should think.” “Though I shouldn’t say this too loudly, I have come to consider that perhaps that maid might be His Highness’s paramour.”

The heavy curtains swayed in the faint breeze. "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 extraordinary talent specifically suited to targeting jewels. …Does this not provide you with significant insight?" "What do you think, Miss Ines?"

Moreover, not only that—she added the following. “You’re aware of last October’s theft incident at the Grini Bjørge Mansion involving a necklace and bracelets, I presume?”

When she saw the young lady nod once more—acknowledging she was aware of that as well—

“Well then, doesn’t that make *everything* perfectly clear?”

As she spoke, the eyes in her plump face took on an increasingly eerie glow. “At the Bjørge Mansion, they immediately reported it to both the National Police Agency and the Metropolitan Police Department—detectives swarmed in from both sides… Yet all they achieved was a tremendous commotion! The crucial item never surfaced, did it? Utterly flustered!” “Catching robbers or solving murders is one thing—but what could low-ranking detectives possibly achieve by making such a fuss over an item like this?” “This calls for a woman—specifically a beautiful lady.” “Though brains are essential—let a sharp-minded beauty don elegant attire and approach His Highness.” “However clever a man might be—men, of all creatures, prove surprisingly fragile.”

And there, the Dowager Duchess cut off her speech. “You understand, don’t you? Miss Ines! That is precisely why we have chosen to entrust this matter solely to you without reporting it anywhere else.”

As if testing the effect of her words, she stared intently at the young lady’s face.

A quiet minute or two passed.

“Having money alone does not make us upstarts like the Bjørges.” “We have connections with the royal family—we cannot risk careless commotion.” “We wish only to retrieve what was lost without staining His Highness’s reputation.”

It was a suggestion couched in the polished circumlocutions unique to high society—first expressing doubt about a female detective’s capabilities, then deeming her suitable precisely because she was a woman; interspersing patronizing remarks while flaunting connections to the royal family; all while honing claws of pretense and malice behind a glamorous façade. If she kept fixating suspicion solely on His Highness Prince Philip and no stolen goods ever surfaced, what on earth would this person say next? Miss Ines was unable to help but give a wry smile.

In any case, she promised to do her utmost to comply with their will as much as possible. However, should the stolen item be smuggled abroad, strict vigilance against illicit exports at border stations and ports would necessitate relying solely on state institutions—there being no alternative—and thus she advised this quintessential grand noble dowager to urgently request arrangements through the National Police Bureau in strict secrecy.

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 examined every point—the floor around the hidden vault, the entrance door to this chamber, and so on—but there remained no traces whatsoever of an intruder having entered from outside.

Assistant Aage had stationed himself in a room adjacent to the waiting chamber some time ago and was investigating last night’s servants’ testimonies. The other assistant, Ebbe, was likely under the window—looking up at the second floor while alternately standing and crouching—perhaps searching for the criminal’s footprints. Waving to Ebbe, she called him up. After signaling him, they decided to inspect the parts of the mansion they had previously overlooked together. Having said all she had to say, the Dowager Duchess retired to her bedroom for her customary afternoon nap, while the mustached man from earlier guided them from the second-floor rooms down to the basement. The second floor contained sixteen rooms in total—the current duke’s study… living room… the young wife’s living room… bedroom… and, at the far southern end reached by turning at a right angle, the room of Johannes, the sixteen-year-old younger brother of the duke, referred to as the Young Master. After finishing inspecting each one, they descended to the lower floor. The lower floor had eight rooms: aside from the reception room they had been led through earlier, there was another small parlor, a billiard room across from it, a music room lined with pianos and violins... Nothing particularly noteworthy stood out anywhere.

From the grand staircase, one could cross the dimly lit central corridor and pass through the Romanesque grand dome to reach the hall. However, at the same time, from beneath the grand staircase, if one bent sharply at a right angle and descended the small staircase, it also allowed passage down to the basement. That basement… There as well, the ceiling was high, and it boasted a splendor that rivaled the upper floors. On both sides laid with Saracen-patterned zouga weave carpets, countless rooms—maids’ quarters, footmen’s rooms, the butler’s chamber, tutors’ quarters, and more—encircled the space.

Likely due to its construction by the father of the penultimate Duke Dragen—who once served as Prime Minister—upon the ruins of the inner keep of the ancestral Mirdaal Castle, this mansion’s exterior adopted a modern Gothic style while retaining abundant vestiges evocative of Mirdaal’s bygone era, its underground passageways intertwining like a labyrinth. “Your party will also be exiting from this side.” The tunnel passage with exposed Kibira stone that the butler guided them through turned right, bent left, intersected with side passages two or three times, eventually becoming a narrow spiral staircase before abruptly emerging into a room adjacent to the waiting chamber. In the room across, Aage was now summoning each servant one by one for questioning.

“This here was what they called the attendants’ waiting room during His Lordship’s time.” “Last night, His Highness’s attendants were stationed here,” said the butler. “The female attendants?” When she asked, “No, they were all gentlemen.” “One was His Excellency’s adjutant, but as that gentleman had gone to attend the banquet, three household staff members were stationed here.”

“Until His Highness returned, what on earth were those people doing while they waited?” “Well… When I had the meal brought to them, they were all playing shogi.” After going to Aage’s location and assisting with the servants’ inquiries for a while, Miss Ines alone decided to drive to the president’s office of the Danish Agricultural Corporation near the coastal avenue to meet Duke Henrik, the family head. The 25-year-old Duke and President was gentle and unhurried like his young wife—magnanimous, refined, elegant—but put unkindly, he was as withered as an old man in youth. Youth was not something one would care to bottle up as medicine.

She asked several questions about His Highness Prince Philip’s movements last night and concluded her inquiries. In any case, tonight’s work was now completed. The rest could wait until tomorrow… Perhaps she should head home early and help with Mother’s cooking! As she drove from Vester Street toward Emperor Street, the city lights blinking through the evening haze simultaneously made the Bjørge Mansion Incident from years past vividly come back to her. Money alone made one an upstart—and now this theft at Mr. Grune Bjørge’s residence that the Dowager Duchess had mentioned earlier!

Bjørge Mansion Incident

The rumors that His Highness Prince Philip, the king's brother, was an invisible phantom thief did not, of course, originate solely from the Bjørge family incident. Such rumors had been circulating sporadically even before then, but it could be said that the Bjørge Incident caused them to gain even greater momentum and spread like wildfire.

Of course, this did not mean the young lady was involved in the incident. As the Dowager Duchess had stated earlier, the incident was immediately reported to both the National Police Bureau and the City Police Department, detectives swarmed in, and a massive investigation was launched. However, despite their efforts, the case ultimately became mired in a labyrinthine dead end, and to this day, not only had they failed to identify any likely suspects, but even the whereabouts of the stolen necklace and bracelets remained completely unknown.

Around that time, she had been strolling through Kongens Nytorv Square when she happened to encounter Mr. Bergland Hartoan, her late father’s closest friend. Mr. Hartoan served as Copenhagen District Prosecutor and, while he did not directly handle the investigation of the case, as head of prosecution authorities he received exhaustive reports down to the minutest detail. Therefore,

“Oh, what’s this, Miss? Long time no see. Care to join me for tea?” Having been tapped on the shoulder, if they entered one of the nearby restaurants, their roles as detective and prosecutor would naturally steer the conversation toward the Bjørge Incident now causing such a stir. “You may think this an unbecoming question for a detective, Uncle…” Just as this prosecutor Uncle playfully called her “Miss,” she in turn referred to him as “Uncle.”

“Well? Uncle, do you still think the culprit is His Highness Prince Philip?” When she asked,

“Well I’ll be! This is a terribly direct question!”

And Uncle laughed. “If you’re going to ask that sort of question, then I suppose I’ll give you an answer unbecoming of a prosecutor.” “Unfortunately, I too have a premonition that it might indeed be the case.” “Even though the case has become a labyrinthine dead end, it would be strange for the prosecutor in charge to start spouting reckless theories—don’t you think?”

Taking advantage of there being no one around, he quietly explained the details.

This also occurred at the residence of Mr. Grune Bjørge—president of the Nordisk Car Manufacturing Company and said to be one of Denmark’s wealthiest individuals—during a tin wedding anniversary commemorative evening party 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, citing prior arrangements for a visit from the President of Iceland. The guests numbered a little over two hundred—the banquet concluded and transitioned to a ball. As the orchestra played, the entire hall was in a frenzy of dancing like butterflies through a Nordic late autumn evening.

Having danced the polka and quadrille, Mrs. Ellen began to feel slightly fatigued. Like the ducal mansion, the ballroom doors here were thrown open toward the spacious inner courtyard. Lingering in the shadow of those doors, drinking the cold beverage a waiter had brought her and catching her breath, she suddenly sensed a presence beside her and straightened her posture with a start. The one who stood there smiling was His Highness Prince Philip. His Highness was 27 years old—his pale forehead, cool flaxen hair, tall stature, and dignified eyes forming the stately visage of an unmarried man who stood as the object of admiration for every maiden in Denmark. His Highness stood there amicably, adorned in the yellow-green uniform of a Dragoon Captain, complete with epaulettes and a ceremonial sash.

“Madam, may I have the honor of this dance?”

“Oh, you honor me, Your Highness.” Mrs. Ellen grasped the hem of her skirt and bowed politely. “Then, please…”

And then, taken by the hand by His Highness, she entered into the whirl of the dance. The orchestra had already changed to an uplifting piece—Tales from the Vienna Woods. To be born a woman and experience the honor of dancing with the very man admired by all Danish maidens! Pressing her face against his manly chest, several entranced minutes passed by. For the first time in a while, the blood in her chest felt rejuvenated. Several more dreamlike, rejuvenated minutes passed by. Suddenly, Mrs. Ellen felt a slight dizziness. It wasn’t that her head particularly hurt. Nor did she faint. Somehow, the surroundings grew hazy—as if she were lying on the garden lawn—the music and people dancing around her seeming to fade into the distance... no sooner had she thought this than they suddenly came back to life with a burst of noise. The hand around her waist, the hand that lightly held hers… His Highness showed no particular change in demeanor. He maintained an amiable smile and traced a splendid arc in time with the music.

And then, in that instant, the orchestra and the waves of dancing grew distant once more. What in the world was happening? she thought. She didn’t particularly feel unwell, but she became concerned about possibly committing some blunder in front of His Highness.

“Oh, are you unwell, Madam?” His Highness keenly noticed and whispered. “Your complexion seems rather unwell…” “Oh, it’s nothing particularly serious…” In that instant, His Highness’s face grew distant again. “Sometimes… something… makes me grow hazy…” “That won’t do. It’s rather 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 while continuing to whirl through the waltz, His Highness Prince Philip skillfully exited the dance circle and gradually led toward the exit. On either side of the doors facing the inner courtyard, benches were set up where guests awaiting their turn to dance chatted cheerfully. She felt as if she had returned the nods of ladies she knew—or perhaps she hadn’t.

Taken by the hand by His Highness Prince Philip, she alighted onto the lawn—damp with dew—after stepping across the stone pavement. A large beech tree spread its luxuriant branches and leaves thickly, with two or three benches placed beneath the shade of its foliage. She distinctly remembered settling onto an unoccupied bench, but as for whether His Highness had said something... her memory grew decidedly hazy at that point.

“Now then, Madam, here should be suitable.” “You should rest here for a while.”

And then His Highness Prince Philip also took a seat beside her.

“I must apologize for such an appalling breach of decorum...”

The chilly night air filled with glittering stars touched her heated cheeks with indescribable pleasantness. As she gazed from this vantage point, the people dancing under dazzling lights appeared like shadow puppets or a single film frame—she felt she peered into another world. She couldn't recall whether one minute or two had passed. Yet her condition gradually improved. A faint throbbing pulsed at her skull's core while her palms grew clammy with sweat, reminiscent of when she'd suffered cerebral anemia. Moment by moment, freshness returned to her senses. When she suddenly noticed, His Highness Prince Philip stood before her. He held cups in both hands...

“Madam, drink this. You should remain still for a while longer.” “Please rest like that for a while.”

“Oh my, to have gone so far as to show such consideration… I am terribly sorry.” His Highness also remained standing and drank down his own in one determined gulp. The cold fruit juice stinging her teeth revived her spirits. Then, for a while longer, His Highness seemed to have remained seated. "You seem much recovered; your complexion has improved considerably. Ah—stay as you are… you must not rise yet."

He waved his hand. “Now then, since you’ll be resting here, shall I inform your husband?”

His Highness murmured as if to himself and rose.

“Please, Your Highness, there’s truly no need to trouble yourself any further… Please refrain from such concern.” At that moment, her mind was solely occupied with the thought that she must not let such a matter spoil the guests’ hard-won merriment. It wasn’t as though she had been particularly waiting for her husband to come. Nor was it that she hadn’t been waiting at all. However, no matter how much time passed, there was no sign of her husband coming… no—not just her husband! After that, His Highness Prince Philip never showed himself again.

In the meantime, since her condition had fully recovered, Mrs. Ellen had returned to the midst of the guests’ lively conversation; following along the ballroom and turning right down a long corridor led to the waiting room. In one corner, an orchestra had gathered, and various potted plants of all kinds were flourishing with lush foliage. In the back, without even using chairs, a group including Minister of Shipping Gjellerup, Finance Minister Bang, Mr. Schülenbach—the visiting president of Bethlehem Steel Company—and Ambassador Velten, who had returned home on leave from his post in France, were puffing on cigars with wine glasses in hand, laughing and enjoying themselves boisterously. The conversation seemed to be blossoming with tales of South African hunts—her husband, his portly frame holding a wine glass, was laughing nearby—and what made Mrs. Ellen widen her eyes was none other than His Highness Prince Philip himself, smiling and raising a wine glass at the center of that uproarious laughter.

She tried to approach without being noticed… or rather, he might have noticed after all. With a gentle smile contained within his gaze, His Highness Prince Philip was looking her way—how astonishing! This bore no resemblance to the kindness of that considerate prince who, until mere moments ago, had been tending to her on the shaded bench and even brought her a cold drink. Let alone informing my husband—there’d been nothing of the sort! As though he’d been holding court here all along, he wore a perfectly guileless expression that suggested no connection whatsoever to Mrs. Ellen.

Before His Highness Prince Philip’s innocent smile, Mrs. Ellen stood dumbfounded. Having timed her approach for when the Minister of Shipping, the Finance Minister, the steel company president, and the ambassadors had each entered the dance with their partners, “Your Highness, I must apologize for such terrible rudeness just now…” she approached. “Thanks to Your Highness’ kindness, my condition has completely improved… I am truly grateful.” The moment she had expressed her gratitude—having spoken up—the wife found herself unable to retract.

“Huh…?”

His Highness Prince Philip widened his eyes for a moment as if startled, but upon noticing the bewilderment that darted through the wife’s gaze—

“Ah, splendid.” “That is what matters most.” He hurriedly formed a smile and nodded politely. But it was nothing more than His Highness matching the tone of Mrs. Ellen’s words—a forced pleasantry that could not be described as anything but perfunctory. Dumbfounded and with a sense of having been tricked by a fox, Mrs. Ellen gazed at His Highness’s face—could His Highness perhaps not be in his right mind? She couldn’t help but think exactly that. For an instant, she doubted her own eyes, wondering if she had mistaken the person, but the tall military uniform she now beheld, the Dannebrog Commander’s Cross medal with its white cross displayed on his chest just as before, his gentle eyes... dignified mouth... clear voice... there was not the slightest difference from His Highness Prince Philip who had been so kind until moments ago. Whether viewed from the front or the side, he remained unmistakably His Highness Prince Philip, just as before.

In any case, since her mood had fully recovered, Mrs. Ellen—though tilting her head slightly—remained lively and attentive in hosting the guests, ensuring the evening’s event concluded successfully without causing the slightest discomfort to anyone. However, His Highness Prince Philip had departed for his residence roughly thirty or forty minutes before the guests began to leave, had he not? According to Mrs. Ellen’s recollection, after that incident, His Highness Prince Philip danced only twice—once at the request of the Belgian Ambassador’s wife, and another time when Miss Astrid Annasen, the renowned beauty and daughter of Jens Annasen, president of the Red Cross Society, asked him for a dance… In total, she remembered it being just these two occasions.

“I was able to spend a truly delightful evening thanks to your hospitality.” “As I must serve as His Majesty’s imperial representative tomorrow, I must beg your pardon and take my leave at this juncture.” It was a polite farewell. And as the orchestra members all rose to their feet, ceased their dancing, and remained in place to see him off, His Highness Prince Philip exchanged handshakes with prominent officials and noblewomen, then eventually departed accompanied by his aides to the strains of the national anthem—yet even then, he did not utter a single word. Though Mr. and Mrs. Bjørge saw him off to the entrance and he exchanged warm handshakes with them, would there finally be some word this time? To the wife, her heart leaping with anticipation, the prince ultimately did not bestow upon her a single word of concern.

Mrs. Ellen had retired to her bedroom—it must have been around one or two o’clock in the morning? The Dowager Duchess Dragen had noticed the difference in texture when removing hers, but Mrs. Bjørge, too, had noticed when taking hers off. The bracelet… then the necklace… As she went to remove them, she casually reached out her hand and noticed that the texture was completely different from usual—Oh! she realized. Merely 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 with her hands; but now, upon removing them, while their appearance seemed exquisitely crafted, their settings—supposedly platinum—were nothing but! It was an utterly crude counterfeit inlaid with glass that bore no resemblance whatsoever. Mrs. Bjørge was gazing at it, resting on her palm. In her overwhelming shock, she even forgot to let out a scream.

Unlike the Dragen Ducal Family’s necklace, this piece was not an heirloom passed down through generations and thus bore no special name. Nevertheless, crafted by a certain tycoon who spared no expense in adorning it with large diamonds, its combined value likely amounted to forty or fifty million krone... perhaps even more.

Moreover, what surprised her was not just that. What chilled her to the bone even more was that a mild pain had arisen deep within her head that night. Was it fatigue from the banquet having concluded without incident? Though she thought so, her body felt vaguely sluggish regardless. It was when—just to be safe before going to bed—she called Dr. Hammel, her regular physician, to examine her.

As was his custom, Dr. Hammel, "You'll be fine, Madam. You must have had a mild case of cerebral anemia."

Proceeding nonchalantly to check her pulse and apply his stethoscope, he suddenly— showed a suspicious look crossing his brows. "This seems rather odd. Did you notice any odors at that time?" "What sort of smell did you perceive?" He abruptly began formally interrogating her symptoms.

“Did you feel as though you had lain down on the grass? “Hmm… Did you notice a grassy odor?” “And then… Hmm… hmm… Madam, you inhaled an anesthetic at that time.” “A minor… an extremely minor dose of chloroethyl—that’s what you inhaled.”

And then, to her surprise, he conducted an even more thorough re-examination. Upon reflection—had His Highness administered an anesthetic while she was with him earlier? Was that why there had been that grassy smell like lying on a lawn, making her head so foggy? And could it be that while leaning against the garden bench—pretending kindness—His Highness Prince Philip had removed both necklace and bracelet within mere minutes, replacing them with counterfeits before she could notice? First—how could one administer an anesthetic while dancing with his right hand behind his back holding her left? …After considering this, Mrs. Bjørge concluded it wasn’t entirely impossible. His Highness stood so tall she barely reached his shoulder. If he had concealed an anesthetic—perhaps in a rubber bulb—within his breast pocket, he would have faced no danger himself, while with each step she alone inhaled the dispersing chloroethyl.

Even if he could make me inhale the anesthetic that way—and even supposing I retained only dizziness while my overall consciousness remained clear—by what method could he perform such sleight of hand? To remove the items around my neck and coiled on my arms, then replace them with similar ones in their stead—how could such swiftness be achieved? His Highness Prince Philip had already shared banquet tables with me two or three times and had even visited my mansion once. During those occasions, had His Highness viewed my bracelets and necklaces and properly prepared counterfeits in advance?

Precisely because she had admired His Highness Prince Philip more than anyone until this day, in that instant, hatred seethed and surged within Mrs. Bjørge’s heart.

“Esther!” She snarled in a voice sharp enough to bite and stamped her feet. “Call the National Police Agency immediately and inform them we’ve been robbed!” “And call the City Police Bureau immediately!” “What are you dawdling for?!” “Hurry up, won’t you?!”

She snapped at the maid.

Upon receiving the complaint from the Bjørge mansion, skilled detectives from both the National Police Agency and the City Police Bureau raced off. Because the individual in question was of noble standing, they conducted the investigation with utmost secrecy, deployed a meticulous team—yet not a single piece of physical evidence existed. “To lay hands on this noble person, one would need to have amassed overwhelming evidence.” “The more one investigates, the more chaotic it becomes—even now, six months later, it remains unresolved!”

And Uncle let out a sigh as if dismissing something.

“But… what if it wasn’t His Highness Prince Philip at that time, but someone who looked exactly like him impersonating His Highness to interact with Mrs. Bjørge? Did no one consider that possibility and investigate that angle more thoroughly?”

“At the mention of His Highness Prince Philip, young women across Denmark turn pale—but you, the great detective! You’re starting to turn pale yourself!” Uncle burst out laughing. “I don’t need you to tell me that. Of course we’ve thoroughly considered such possibilities and are investigating them. Apparently, even the Criminal Affairs Division Chief was saying something similar to you back then. However, you claim there’s a person who’s the spitting image of His Highness—but even if such a person were to enter the very same room where His Highness was present—listen here—no matter how large the ballroom may be, it’s not a separate room. In that same chamber where His Highness sat, do you truly believe an impostor in identical military uniform could perform such sleight of hand? Isn’t that beyond human imagination?”

"Crimes occur precisely where the human mind cannot imagine them, Uncle!" She had understood this truth, but Miss Ines kept silent—unable to voice such words to Uncle, her father's dear friend.

The details of the Bjørge Mansion Incident, heard from that prosecutor Uncle Hartoan, now unexpectedly surfaced in the mind of the young lady driving the car.

Johannes (the Young Master)

Indeed, the case had presented extraordinary difficulties from the very beginning. The more they investigated, the more chaotic it became, and no leads could be grasped. They conducted a strict examination, but no different fingerprints appeared on the counterfeit necklace. Of course, no fingerprints whatsoever were detected from the door of the hidden vault either.

In that case, 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, family members—showed significant discrepancies in every detail. First and foremost, regarding one of those major discrepancies... That evening, Madam, did you perhaps feel unwell and retire to a separate room for a time? Or did you suddenly collide with someone at a corner? In response to these inquiries, the Dowager Duchess consistently answered "No." She seemed particularly offended by the final question—such an indecent thing! As if declaring just that, she barely gave a proper reply.

This was as she had previously stated, but upon investigation, far from not meeting anyone that night, the Dowager Duchess had been sitting knee-to-knee with a boy on a bench behind the antechamber, engaged in conversation.

This boy was sixteen-year-old Johannes—the younger brother of the current duke—who had sprained his ankle merely four or five days prior but refrained from attending that night’s banquet solely due to using a cane. Though walking posed no hindrance from this injury, he secluded himself in his second-floor room at the southern end of residence where he became wholly engrossed in crafting model airplanes—a hobby currently sweeping Copenhagen’s youth. The current duke stated he had seen his mother conversing with this younger brother on a corner bench; likewise did this claim come from his wife.

Melta, Elisabeth, and Mariya—the chambermaids—along with about three other servants who claimed to have seen the Dowager Duchess and the Young Master speaking together, though they did not know what was being discussed. Particularly, one of them—a maid named Edith—clearly testified that she had seen the Young Master placing both hands around the Dowager Duchess’s neck and kissing her. This should have been a key piece of evidence in the case.

The time was just moments before the dining hall was about to open—when the orchestra had begun playing and the crowd was at its peak—so of course this would have been when the Duchess had already changed into evening dress and was wearing the Sea Serpent Necklace in question. Since there was no evidence that anyone else had approached the widow, the young lady naturally regarded this fact as significant.

“Madam!” “Madam, I have heard you were conversing with Young Master Johannes. Might I trouble you to recount the circumstances of that occasion?” “Miss Ines, the other party was Johannes—what possible relevance could my conversation with a mere child hold for your investigation?”

“But I must at least ask!...” “Isn’t this absurd? A parent talking with a child…”

And as was her custom, the Dowager Duchess exuded an air of displeasure. “Instead of wasting time investigating such trivial nonsense, why haven’t you devised a way to approach His Highness Prince Philip?!” Prompted by this willful woman’s near-interrogation, what the young lady managed to ascertain was roughly as follows.

Duke Henrik Dragen, the Duchess, Mrs. Solveig—niece of Viscount Andersen who had come to assist—along with her mother Mrs. From and others were welcoming guests at the hall entrance, as every last attendee already overflowed into the grand hall and antechambers, laughter and conversation mingling with tobacco smoke that swirled thickly through the mansion’s interior and grounds in chaotic profusion. To be more precise, His Highness the Royal Representative had also just arrived, and it was a time when everyone was caught in a whirlwind of activity surrounding his reception.

Threading through the crowd, Johannes’ face appeared at the entrance—the boy leaning on a cane seemed to be searching for his mother. In height he nearly matched the head of the household, yet remained a child who had only just begun wearing long Western-style trousers. Having not been expected to attend in the first place, he hadn’t changed out of his school uniform. Though properly dressed in jacket and tie, his dragging leg and cane made his presence problematic among these guests arrayed in resplendent evening attire.

“What on earth are you doing in such a state!” “What exactly do you want?”

And the Dowager Duchess came rushing out while holding the bouquet she had just received. “Mother… I—I have a favor to ask.”

That area too was swarming with people, but if one made a slight turn down the grand corridor, there was a recess. Rather than a mere recess, it would be more accurate to call it a wall niche—fitted with a small window draped in curtains, adorned with oil paintings, lined with potted plants, and furnished with a velvet-upholstered bench. In the corner bench, a group of ladies were laughing and enjoying themselves, but the wall niche was empty. "That won’t do, coming out dressed like that! What do you want? Mother is busy, isn’t she!"

And the Dowager Duchess took a seat there. The boy also took a seat, so close that their knees nearly touched. “Mother! I still need one more thing—I’ve absolutely got to buy another engine! I need more money—it’s all run out, you see!” “What nonsense are you spouting now?! Can’t it wait until later?”

“No! But it’s almost done! If I just put in the engine,I can take it to school tomorrow! Just give me another ten thousand krone—I’ll have Sara go buy it!”

“Is Her Grace not present here?”

Just then, the chambermaid Edith came searching.

“Um... Her Grace... The Young Mistress is requesting your presence...”

The banquet would at last commence. Being in a hurry, she did not remember Johannes’s words clearly… She retained in her mind that he had said he needed another engine… Whether he had definitely added that he would have Sara go buy it—or not—remained uncertain…

“Come now—I’m 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 I said so.” Yūwan was the aforementioned mustachioed butler. “Alright then, I’ll do that!” “Mother! Thank you, thank you… You really are my mother after all!”

The boy, looking delighted, wrapped both arms around the Dowager Duchess’s neck. And then he kissed her cheek… “There, there—stop that! You’ll muss my hair! Enough, enough—I understand already…”

When one opened the door at the end, there was a staircase leading to the second floor that could be accessed without passing through the guests. “Mother! Thank you… thank you.” The boy’s face was smiling on the other side of the dimly lit door. “Ladies and gentlemen, the dining hall is now open. Please proceed!”

Yūwan’s voice rang out. The lively strains of orchestral music struck her ears. She had to hurry and attend to His Highness the Royal Representative. The Dowager Duchess rushed straight to the waiting room where His Highness was...

This was the account obtained—with evident reluctance and a bitter expression—from the Dowager Duchess. “Forgive my impertinence, but at that time, did you notice anything different about Young Master Johannes compared to his usual self?”

“...Nothing in particular...” “One more thing… Then, does Young Master Johannes often engage in such behavior? In such instances… does he come to receive his allowance…?” “In our household, we do not give children what you might call an allowance. When there are things needed, we make it a practice to have servants go buy them each and every time. He could have told the butler, but since he thought the amount was substantial, he likely came to obtain my permission.”

"Allotting fixed monthly allowances and budgeting them to buy things—that’s the custom of the common folk!" Her answer practically buzzed with unspoken contempt—"That’s the custom of the common folk!"

“Given your profession, I suppose, Miss Ines! Johannes is our child! Isn’t it a bit off the mark for you to be asking such things?”

The focus... The focus... That focus was off! As if voicing this unspoken retort, the Dowager Duchess’s temple twitched, forcing them to suspend the interrogation for now. Having timed it for when the boy returned from school,

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

Around noon the following day, the young lady visited Johannes’s room carrying a premium gasoline engine for model airplanes—specially made by Kenyon Company. As always, the boy had turned his surroundings into something resembling a machine factory, with parts scattered everywhere, and was fully occupied with attaching components. Startled by the unexpected visitor and unforeseen gift, he reddened with a perplexed expression and fidgeted while moving his hands. According to the Dowager Duchess’s account, it had seemed the project could be completed that very day if only the engine were installed—yet there was no sign of progress reaching that stage. True to form, given the tens of thousands of krone spent and the obsessive dedication poured into it—though called a model, its wingspan measured approximately 1.5 meters across both wings, and it seemed capable of effortlessly flying five miles—it was an exquisitely crafted toy.

“Young Master, what kind of airplane are you making now?”

“…………” “It resembles a German passenger plane, but perhaps it’s different?” “Lufthansa’s wings attach from here… I’m making a Swedish passenger plane.”

“That’s right—it was Swedish, wasn’t it? My, my—it’s remarkably well-crafted.” “Auntie, when did you start coming to our house?”

After a moment's pause, the boy inquired curiously.

“Auntie isn’t part of the Young Master’s household, you know.” “Have you heard about it, Young Master?” “Something went missing in the Young Master’s household—I’ve come to investigate it.” “Oh...the necklace...”

“Well, that’s how it is.” “But in your household… there’s something precious, 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 at all..."

The boy shook his head. “Well then, Young Master, it seems to have nothing to do with you.” “Oh, right—next time I come，Auntie will bring you something nice again，okay? Young Master，what do you need?” “Still tools for your airplane?” A child who seemed to proclaim vigorous growth through his very stature. Due to his large build，he stood tall for his age，reaching adult-like proportions.

“I don’t need it. If I take something from a stranger, I get scolded.” “Auntie is different—Auntie was asked by your mother to handle this matter, so I won’t get scolded… But never mind that! Let’s wait until Auntie brings something next time then. But more importantly—I had forgotten to ask—Young Master, how is your foot now? I heard you didn’t come out the other day. Were you making that airplane…?”

“So that’s how I finished up so much!”

And a triumphant flush spread across the boy’s cheeks. “But... can I buy the engine? Wait, you went to Mother’s place, didn’t you? Has that engine already been attached?” “It’s already been installed ages ago! So I burst out laughing! It’s not just Mother! Even though I’ve had the engine for ages, Brother and Sister-in-law too… Mariya and Edith—they all keep saying such stupid things! So Miss Regine and I burst out laughing, thinking everyone’s gone mad!”

The boy laughed and shrugged. Miss Regine was the elderly tutor who had assisted the boy until late that night. "So... Then, Young Master, you didn't go to your mother's place to discuss the engine or anything like that, did you?"

“I didn’t go there!” “I already have one—there’s no reason to go!” What the Dowager Duchess had firmly confirmed—and what the current Duke, the Duchess, and even servants like Merta, Elisabeth, Mariya, and Edith had clearly witnessed—now lay 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—I ate with Miss Regine. Lovisa knows all about it.”

Lovisa was the maid who brought the meal there that night. “Well then, it’s no wonder you find it laughable, Young Master—what could everyone possibly be saying? Ohohohoho!”

She had casually matched his tone, but upon seeing that the boy had become quite comfortable, she changed direction here.

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

If one simply took hold of the rudder in a way that suited the child’s preferences, children would adapt without difficulty. “I’m the best, you know… but maybe Gayel’s a bit better than me?” “Among your friends, Young Master—is there any mischievous child who might surprise us by imitating you? Someone who’d go to your mother’s place asking for pocket money?”

“None of my friends would dare say a word—they’re all terrified of Mother.” “But… surely there must be such pranksters around sometimes?” “There’s not a single idiot like that.”

In the end, the boy burst out laughing. "For one thing, Mother's got those big eyes and she's all jittery—she's so scary that no one would dare go near her."

“Well… mischief-makers exist everywhere… but then, Young Master, it seems there are no such pranksters among your friends… hmm?”

The boy nodded.

She tried changing direction once again.

“By the way, Young Master… do you like Miss Regine?” “Well, of course I do!” “Is Miss Regine strict?” “She’s strict with studies, but when it’s time to play, she plays with me—that’s why I love her so much!” “Young Master, you wouldn’t tell lies… but if you did, would she be strict?”

“I don’t know… Since it’s never happened, I don’t know…” “Oh my... Talking with you is so interesting, Young Master, that I’ve carelessly overstayed my welcome in your room.” “I’m sorry… Well then, next time I come, I’ll bring something nice for you, okay?” So she left the boy’s room, but whether this child was prone to lying 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 ordinary—there’s nothing particularly exceptional about it.” “That said, he’s certainly not incapable… but more importantly, that boy carries himself with such an aristocratically unhurried air—not a shred of that warped disposition or cunning streak that might lead one to tell lies.” “After all, blood will tell.” “As a scion of nobility, I consider it a quintessential trait.”

This was the homeroom teacher’s observation. Given this, it would be entirely reasonable to place full trust in Johannes’s assertion that he had not taken a single step outside his room that night. Yet if one were to trust the boy, how then should one interpret the testimonies of his mother—who insisted he had come to ask permission to buy an engine while embracing her neck with repeated thanks and kisses—alongside those of the current Duke and Duchess and the other servants?

Two Princes and Two Boys

Moreover, the discrepancies were not limited to the Dowager Duchess and Johannes. Another discrepancy had come to light. However, this was less a discrepancy and more a case of a single mysterious witness emerging. Among the twenty-five servants—including the butler, parlor maids, inner chamber maids, bellboys, and footmen—eighteen maids, bellboys, and footmen had been stationed in the guest areas that night. Yet not a single one of those eighteen made any such claim; only Lovisa, a parlor maid about to turn nineteen, insisted she had indeed seen His Highness Prince Philip descending from the second floor of the main building.

The Dowager Duchess, of course—along with the current Duke and Duchess, the butler, and all the other servants—dismissed Lovisa’s claims with derisive laughter, insisting such a foolish thing could not possibly have occurred. His Highness Prince Philip, as the guest of honor that night, remained at the center of attention throughout—in the antechamber until dinner began, at the heart of the grand dining hall once the meal commenced, and in the ballroom after dancing started—and there was absolutely no possibility he had wandered about alone before retiring to his quarters. Since they themselves had been attending to him, nothing could be more certain; they hadn’t even deigned to take this maid’s claims seriously from the outset, dismissing it as some fault in Lovisa’s memory.

Of course, it was only natural not to take it seriously—a story that could not be helped but be laughed off as Lovisa’s faulty memory. On the first day, as the young lady had also inspected, the second floor of the main building was purely the ducal family’s residence and a place where guests had no business whatsoever going. Given that these were the Dowager Duchess’s parlor and bedroom, the current Duke and Duchess’s respective parlors and bedrooms, and Johannes (the Young Master)’s room—where he had not attended the banquet that night—there was no conceivable reason for His Highness Prince Philip, acting as His Majesty’s representative, to venture into such areas out of mere curiosity. However, the young lady sensed that something of grave significance lay hidden within Lovisa’s claim.

If it were accepted that His Highness Prince Philip had ascended alone to that second floor, it would naturally follow that His Highness had harbored some impure motive unrelated to his capacity as the royal representative. As mentioned before, the Dowager Duchess was a woman of strong will ruled entirely by emotion—and it was precisely this will and emotion that drove her to suspect His Highness from the depths of her being. Under normal circumstances, one would expect the Dowager Duchess to be the first to seize upon such a disadvantageous matter for His Highness Prince Philip. Yet paradoxically, it was this very Dowager Duchess who denied it while an unrelated parlor maid persisted in making claims detrimental to His Highness. Moreover, the parlor maid who insisted this had already served at the ducal mansion for over two years and was a woman who had earned the Dowager Duchess’s absolute trust—could this be where the key to the case lay? And so, the young lady placed great weight on this claim as well.

She immediately took her assistant Oge along and decided to re-examine the veracity of this testimony.

In front of the room where His Highness Prince Philip’s attendants had been stationed that night, that very room where Oge had once summoned and questioned each of the servants one by one was still being provided by the ducal family as a temporary investigation chamber. There, they summoned the parlor maid Lovisa. The one who entered was a curly-haired woman—a parlor maid in title, yet lacking any trace of nimble agility, so rustic and sluggish she could almost be called ponderous, with an air of being slow to speak.

“It is said that you claim to have seen His Highness Prince Philip walking alone in the second-floor corridor around 7:20 to 7:30 PM that night.” “From where did His Highness Prince Philip emerge, and where was he heading? Please tell me once again.”

“That I do not know. It was when His Highness was descending the grand staircase that I had the honor of encountering him.” “And what were you doing at that time?” “By Mr. Darling’s orders… Mr. Darling is the head chef. I brought Young Master Johannes and Miss Regine’s meals up from the basement.” “So… You were not able to attend the guests’ seating area that evening, were you? So when you were about to head to the stairs after exiting the basement, you encountered His Highness Prince Philip descending from the second floor, correct? What was His Highness’s demeanor? Something like… as if he was in a hurry…?”

“There was nothing particularly different from His Highness’s usual demeanor.” “His Highness Prince Philip descended slowly.”

“And then…?”

"I stepped aside and kept my head bowed, so…" "After His Highness Prince Philip descended, you then ascended to the second floor, correct?"

“Yes.” “Then, after His Highness Prince Philip descended, did you happen to notice which direction he went?” “Yes, I simply went straight up to the second floor, so…”

“Was there anyone else besides you who saw His Highness Prince Philip at that time?” “Since there was no one else around, perhaps no one saw.” “Will you state clearly before the Dowager Duchess what you have just said?” “Yes, while there are other matters I do not know, what I do know I will state before anyone…”

“But as the guest of honor that night, Madam remained by His Highness’s side throughout, yet she states that His Highness Prince Philip never once left his seat.” “First of all, she states that His Highness Prince Philip could not possibly have gone up to such a second floor of the main building—but Miss Lovisa, might this not be some sort of mistake on your part?”

"But I most certainly encountered His Highness Prince Philip, so it cannot be a mistake." "Very well. Oge, stay right there for a moment and fetch the Dowager Duchess for me."

The young lady turned to Oge. The Dowager Duchess entered. Loviisa fidgeted nervously.

“Madam, no matter how many times we ask this maid, she refuses to retract her previous statement. If I may be so bold, could it not be Madam who is mistaken?”

“Loviisa, it has been just over two years since you came to this household.” “That you are not one to tell lies or nonsense is something I know full well.” “But isn’t what you’re claiming now some sort of mistake on your part?” “Think again!” The Dowager Duchess slowly turned to face Loviisa. “As for the time you encountered His Highness Prince Philip around 7:20 to 7:30 PM—that is precisely the time I too distinctly remember.” “Right before the dining hall opened… it was precisely when I offered my arm to His Highness Prince Philip and escorted him through the corridor.” “And prior to that, I was speaking with Johannes in the back of the antechamber while His Highness Prince Philip conversed with the Foreign Minister and American Ambassador near the palm trees.” “Where would His Highness Prince Philip have found time to go upstairs… Could this not be some error in your recollection?”

“Madam, I certainly did pass by His Highness Prince Philip.” “It is certainly not a mistake—His Highness Prince Philip was wearing green Western-style trousers with red stripes.” “Were His Highness’s shoes boots, may I ask?”

“No, ordinary shoes… His Highness Prince Philip was wearing ordinary shoes with golden spurs… And on his chest… Though I cannot recall clearly, he had adorned a silver medal decoration…” “Then it must indeed be His Highness Prince Philip!”

The Dowager Duchess sighed. As Loviisa had stated, that was indeed His Highness Prince Philip’s attire that evening. His Highness Prince Philip had been wearing short boots with golden spurs, and what was referred to as the silver medal decoration must indicate the ribbon of the Lerefan Bran Grand Cordon he had worn. That was exactly the case. As Loviisa—who hadn’t appeared before the guests—if she hadn’t encountered His Highness Prince Philip within this vast mansion amidst that crowd, how could she possibly have come to know such details?

“Strange, this is strange—but what you say isn’t wrong… Miss Ines, what this one states isn’t wrong either… Yet I find myself completely baffled by it all.” With an uncomprehending expression and shaking her head repeatedly, the Dowager Duchess left—but “Oh! I nearly forgot to mention,” Loviisa added another crucial detail. “At that time, His Highness Prince Philip was carrying white gloves.”

“So… white gloves…”

The young lady pondered, but it had now become an undeniable fact that Loviisa had encountered His Highness Prince Philip. It appeared to be His Highness Prince Philip’s habit that the white kid gloves alone were never left at the cloakroom; he would always tuck them into the pockets of his Western-style trousers. And it was often rumored that he sometimes held them in his hand.

“No need to question this maid any further—she’s an honest woman.”

After Loviisa left, Oge groaned.

“This would mean there are two separate instances of His Highness Prince Philip—one walking with the Dowager Duchess in the corridor, and another descending from the second floor. If this becomes clear, we’ll have our decisive clue for the case, but…” “There’s more yet, Oge! Johannes making airplanes on the second floor and Johannes talking with the Dowager Duchess downstairs… Once this is resolved…” The young lady closed her eyes and tapped the desk with her pencil tip. Just as the Bjørge Incident had been mired in confusion from the beginning, this case too had shown unmanageable chaos from the outset. If it was neither external thieves breaking in nor a swap within the vault, then there was no choice but to proceed based on these testimonies—though in any case, it suggested tremendous difficulties from the very start.

Of course, they immediately had Ebbe rush off to thoroughly investigate the background of this maid Loviisa as well. Before coming to the ducal mansion, this woman had worked as a maid at a car rental shop in Roskilde, located twenty-seven ri southwest of Copenhagen City. Ebbe sped off in the car to investigate there.

“Did that girl do something wrong?” The car rental shop owner widened his eyes in surprise.

“There’s no one as honest and reliable as that.” “I wanted desperately to keep her here with us.” “That girl just had to breathe the capital’s air, no matter what!” “So she up and quit on me.” “But tell me—what’s she done now?”

It was not that the person in question had done anything wrong, but since he could not openly discuss the necklace theft, he fabricated a suitable pretext—explaining that while the master said one thing, the person in question said another.

“There’s absolutely no mistake in what Loviisa’s saying!” For the old man, there was neither white nor black in either party’s claims.

“That girl’s never told a lie in her life! If they’re spoutin’ that kinda nonsense, then screw the Duke and his whole damn Countship! Tell her to quit that fancy house quick and come back here—we’re waitin’, y’hear? And now there’s a baby born—we just gotta have her back here, y’understand?!”

A person trusted this extensively by a former master was truly extraordinary. It was precisely because they had confirmed Loviisa was no liar that the case's complexity had grown ever more profound.

Around the time of the Summer Solstice Festival

Just as the Bjørge Incident had set out in confusion from the very beginning, this case too had run aground on reefs multiple times, and time and again the young lady may have weakly considered withdrawing her hand from the investigation—perhaps even come close to abandoning it. And during those days when she had been spending each one in anguish, there came a time when she was taken out by that prosecutor, Uncle Bergland Hartoan, and allowed to unwind for half a day at the Freeman’s Club on Andersen Street. Of course, Mr. Hartoan knew that the young lady was engrossed in the Dragen Ducal Family case and thoroughly struggling.

“Even the National Police Agency’s top investigators—four or five of them working together—can’t make headway on this case. There’s no way a woman like yourself could solve it so easily.” “Well, there’s no need to rush—we’ll take it slow. Come on, let’s have lunch.” “No use fretting over it—come along now, come along.”

This prosecutor, well-versed in the hardships of detective work, likely felt additional pity for his deceased friend's child—now an orphaned daughter enduring such struggles. Being fond of drink, he squinted at his beloved snaps set before him. The young lady had rarely visited such clubs, while the prosecutor was clearly a regular presence there.

“Well, it’s been some time. “I trust all has been well since then?” And so on—he busily exchanged greetings with regulars passing by his side. The one who now stood up to shake hands with nostalgic warmth was a tall, silver-haired gentleman as slender as a crane. “Oh, are you departing for Buenos Aires early next month, Your Excellency?” “To travel visiting your children at your age—what an enviable position you hold.” “How delightful... Come now—since it’s a farewell for some time, let us share a parting cup.”

He finally guided him to their seats.

"I see your companion has also arrived—I do hope we are not imposing?" The old gentleman, having courteously greeted them and taken his seat, appeared to be already seventy-some years old. Having built his career steadily and diligently over his lifetime—as if to declare he now lived off a pension—he was the very image of a steadfast gentleman. He had once served as a royal tutor and—as still rolled through the young lady’s mind—had been the one to raise His Highness Prince Philip during his childhood, it was said. Of course, that was already over ten years ago, but he was said to be departing for Argentina early next month to visit his daughter, who had married an embassy staff member in Buenos Aires. Since there was no particular conversation to engage in, the young lady sipped Kirschwasser and listened to the two old men’s discussion.

In Denmark, there existed a grand festival called the Summer Solstice Festival, celebrated nationwide around June 22nd or 23rd each year, where the entire country reveled continuously for two or even three days straight. The Summer Solstice Festival was now approaching the brink of its peak period, and shop-sponsored flower-decorated cars were likely conducting rehearsals in anticipation of it. While conversing with this old gentleman, a sudden commotion arose beneath the window—a procession of six or seven flower-decorated cars led by a band vehicle paraded down from Mangs Street, costumed figures riding atop them.

“Well now, this is quite an interesting spectacle that has arrived.”

They stopped their meal and leaned out the window to watch—being on the second floor afforded them a clear view of the costumed figures.

A figure disguised as Thorvaldsen—Denmark’s great sculptor… Beauties in swimsuits, their voluptuous limbs exposed as they acknowledged the crowd’s cheers… A figure impersonating Christian V—the illustrious ruler of Denmark’s resurgence—grasping his sword… But the most elaborate was the fourth costume. Disguised as Allpu Arenius—Denmark’s foremost actor currently enjoying nationwide fame—the figure greeted the crowd with a pretentious pose, his left eyebrow slightly raised. Whether it was his thin-mustached face sporting a monocle or his body leaning back with right leg thrust forward, he perfectly resembled the real Arenius. Laughing, the crowd also sent their loudest cheers to this fourth automobile.

“That’s spot-on!” “Just like the real Arenius, isn’t it?” The prosecutor was impressed and kept watching the flower-decorated cars depart. Even after returning to their seats, they remained engrossed in discussing the ingenuity of the costumes they had just seen for some time, but the old man was not one to readily accept the prosecutor’s praise at face value. Is it that when one grows old, a sense of repulsion arises toward things immediately before one’s eyes, and in all matters, one tends to nostalgically recall the past? “I wouldn’t say the ones we saw just now were poor, but Mr. Hartoan, I do believe I’d like to show you what a truly masterful disguise looks like.”

“What I still cannot forget is the time I spent at Amalienborg Palace.”

Amalienborg Palace housed the Prince's Palace; during the previous king's reign, both the current monarch and all princes and princesses had been raised there. "During my time at Amalienborg Palace, His Highness had a royal classmate who—" The old gentleman paused as if startled, then casually resumed. "He was a classmate of Their Highnesses the Princes—oh, but that man was skilled! Skilled beyond measure!" "I've truly never witnessed such mastery." "Once he disguised himself as a maid-in-waiting to Her Highness Princess Ingeborg—a woman in her fifties. Not only did he replicate her face and gait perfectly, but even her habit of furrowing her brow and her very voice matched flawlessly—indistinguishable from the original!" "And then—as she came out glancing about nervously—he plucked an earring right from her ear and fixed it to his own! The poor woman never noticed a thing! Oh how we roared—roared with laughter!" "The uproar grew so great that Her Highness herself emerged." "Though she'd kept that maid in close service for years, Her Highness couldn't tell impostor from genuine article!" "She even began giving orders to the counterfeit maid... Oh how we laughed! We clutched our sides laughing, I tell you!"

The old gentleman burst into laughter, tears welling up in his eyes.

Both the prosecutor and the young lady burst into laughter.

“Ohohohohoho, did that royal classmate become an actor or something?” “Good heavens, no—an actor? Far from it! He was a man of great standing indeed—now he’s become an executive at Kragh Shipbuilding, I tell you.”

When it came to Kragh Shipbuilding, it was Denmark’s foremost major company.

“Mr. Lund?” “No, rather—he is the president’s son……” “Who could it be? Count Steensen…?” Having been hit right on the mark, the old gentleman’s eyes widened.

“Yes… yes… It was during that gentleman’s early childhood, I believe. If I recall correctly, he was about sixteen at the time, perhaps?” “Were there many royal classmates?” “Oh, no... That gentleman was the only one, I tell you.”

Recalling bygone days might have been a pleasant reverie for the elderly, but for the prosecutor and Miss Ines—who knew nothing of Count Steensen, much less his childhood—however divinely skilled his disguises might have been, it scarcely qualified as a compelling topic. Since the old man laughed, they simply laughed along with him, and so the discussion reached its conclusion.

Before long, the old gentleman also departed, and the young lady and Mr. Hartoan left the club after glancing through a recent magazine—it was likely near dusk. A mist was beginning to drift over the town, and people hurrying homeward started filling the streets with bustle. As they wandered along Oster Street and Aarhus Street, peering idly into shop windows in silence, something suddenly flashed through the young lady’s mind like lightning. She stopped abruptly in her tracks. For an instant, she felt certain the noble face of His Highness Prince Philip—seen before in photographs—was reflected in the shadow of dresses displayed in a shop window.

The siblings of His Majesty King Handel VII were none other than His Royal Highness Prince Philip and Her Royal Highness Princess Ingeborg. Yet whispers through back alleys told of another—a child secretly fathered by the late King Oscar III in some fleeting moment with a chambermaid, now rumored to have reached adulthood in shadowed anonymity. The Count Steensen of the shipbuilding company—the one the old man had mentioned earlier as a royal classmate—could it be... could it be that he was that secret child of the late king?

If that Count... the young lady pursued her train of thought. A man notorious as a consummate playboy, he had become involved with a French-born woman during his studies at Lyon University’s Department of Naval Architecture and gradually brought her into his mansion as his wife. There was never a moment without rumors about women surrounding him. As a hereditary noble, he held a seat in the Senate, though his roles as senator and company executive were merely nominal. Whereas his predecessor, Count Ludvig Steensen, had been known simply as the late king’s chief chamberlain and no significant property owner, the current count had erected a magnificently opulent mansion beside the Glyptotek museum, maintaining an extravagance that rivaled royalty—leaving one to wonder where such wealth could possibly originate. If he were indeed Prince Philip’s secret younger brother, the extravagance of his lifestyle would be no mystery—yet beyond that, the Count was dexterous and skilled in disguise. At merely sixteen years old, he had once impersonated a fifty-some-year-old maid so flawlessly that even Princess Ingeborg, whom he attended morning and evening, could not discern the counterfeit from the genuine.

If he was so skilled at disguise, he could naturally impersonate His Highness Prince Philip and even occasionally take on the guise of the sixteen-year-old Johannes, younger brother of the current Duke Dragen. And... and... if he had the skill to even remove earrings without the maid noticing, then swapping the necklace in the instant he rubbed cheeks with his mother would be child’s play...

Having thought that far, the young lady could not help but notice the drastic change in her own complexion.

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

"Call Oge and have Fulstenborg Castle thoroughly searched!" she ordered. Oge was in his mid-forties—undisputedly skilled as a detective—but out of gratitude for the care her late father had provided him, he had never struck out on his own even after the man’s death and still assisted the young lady to this day. The young lady had succeeded her father and opened a detective agency—a venture that had relied heavily on Oge’s support. Of course, His Highness could no longer reside in Fulstenborg Castle, but for this skilled man, even without mentioning His Highness, the mere name "Fulstenborg Castle" would have sufficed to grasp the situation.

“O.K.! Miss Ingrid!” A deep voice boomed forcefully from the other end of the receiver. “I figured it’d go that way—had two men on surveillance since yesterday, I tell ya. I’ll round up two-three more guys an’ give ’em a proper goin’-over, whaddya say?”

That was his reply. Next she called Ebbe, but the call wouldn't connect—he must have been out making his rounds. Though hardly presentable at formal gatherings, the young lady had another peculiar operative at her disposal: Ralph, nicknamed Cobra. A six-time convict—highway robbery, muggings, pickpocketing, theft... a man who dabbled in every crime imaginable—but having been saved by her late father, he'd abruptly abandoned his wicked ways and now loyally served this private detective duo across two generations as their faithful agent. The moniker Cobra—like its Indian namesake—likely stemmed from that venomous trait of latching onto targets once spotted and never letting go.

“Boss! You're pantin' like crazy!” “With this weather shiftin', ain't ya feelin' just a bit lightheaded?”

“This isn’t the time! Ralph—can you switch locations immediately? To Kragh Shipbuilding—the place of someone named Steensen!” “Steensen from Kragh Shipbuildin’?” “You know—the Count with the big mansion by the Glyptotek museum…” “Right on it! I’ll get started pronto.” “Pull everyone off current jobs and have your whole team focus on this.” “Got it! But Boss—your voice sounds weird. Ain’tcha feelin’ even a little giddy?”

“Giddy? Far from it!” The moment she realized His Highness was truly pulling the strings behind the scenes, an oppressive gloom settled over her—and though she knew she mustn’t let emotions interfere, she couldn’t shake a sense of disillusioned sorrow. Even after replacing the receiver, it left her breathless there for some time.

Friend of the Unfortunate

His Highness Prince Philip had left Merby Palace within Fulstenborg Castle about two years prior and now resided in a private residence he purchased three kilometers southwest of the suburbs, near Segelfoss Hill.

By mobilizing all available resources—shepherds' wives from the vicinity, retired officials, the town's vagrant boys—Oge was likely maintaining strict surveillance. Reports from inquiries poured in frequently. Not all of these inquiries had arrived at once, but when compiled, they roughly amounted to the following.

"His Highness led an exceedingly regular life. He departed for work at nine every morning and returned from the Tilbon Dragoon Regiment around four in the evening; beyond these outings, there was never any indication of him venturing outside. On rare occasions when required by His Majesty the King, he served as a royal proxy—this being the extent of his activities. After dinner, His Highness would seclude himself in his study, and from the second-floor room on the right side of the rear garden—surrounded by a grove of white birch trees—the electric light shone brilliantly even around one or two o'clock in the dead of night.

There were absolutely no rumors of women coming and going in relation to His Highness. His Highness held audiences every Wednesday and Friday afternoon. On these days, people from across the nation—the disabled, the infirm, orphans, and widows—gathered, drawn by His Highness’s benevolence. On busy days, as many as fifteen or sixteen people might have come. His Highness also graciously received these pitiful individuals in audience, arranging for their care through respective welfare institutions or bestowing money and goods upon them with consideration. These people shed tears, moved to weeping by His Highness’s benevolence.

Last March, His Highness dismissed the majority of the over twenty domestic staff who had been employed until then. At present, there are only eight servants. From cooks to cleaners—every last one of them is male; there is not a single woman. And His Highness was implementing extreme cost-saving measures. Despite the royal household expenses being allocated ample funds within the royal budget, why His Highness persisted in implementing such extreme austerity measures remained a profound mystery to the general public. His current lifestyle was said to be at a moderate middle-class standard, and even one of the domestic staff had remarked on it.

Two years ago in February, when he had left Fulstenborg Castle Detached Palace and begun living as a commoner—combined with this fact—this was likely the obscure aspect of His Highness's character. It proved difficult to explain this solely as stemming from a lack of self-serving motives. Might there not rather have been something miserly—something gold-obsessed—within his character? Such was the speculation circulating. "There may have been a gem-obsessed aspect lurking there as well."

Summarizing Oge’s gathered inquiries, it came to this. Meanwhile from Ebbe and Ralph "Cobra," who were keeping watch over Count Steensen’s residence, reports also came pouring in diligently. When compiled, these too amounted to the following. Count Bergland Steensen was twenty-seven years old this year. He was the same age as His Highness Prince Philip; however, having been born in 1921, he entered the world six months after His Highness. He was registered as the son of the late Grand Chamberlain, Count Ludvig Steensen. However, at the time of his birth, the late Grand Chamberlain had been sixty-three years old. Whether he was indeed the late Count’s biological child remained unclear.

It was a fact that until age seventeen, he had been raised within Amalienborg Palace alongside His Majesty King Hendel VII, His Highness Prince Philip, and Her Highness Princess Ingeborg. Officially recognized as a study companion to the princes on paper, it had been revealed that his treatment differed in no way from that of the princes and princesses themselves. Yet from this fact alone, it remained impossible to conclusively judge him as the royal son of His Majesty the late King Oscar III. The Grand Chamberlain and his wife—who had no other children—passed away in 1927 and 1929 respectively.

Count Steensen served as a senator and vice president of Kragh Shipbuilding Company, holding positions among its board of directors. However, he hardly ever attended either parliament or the company. His parliamentary seat was registered with the United Conservative Party. His hobbies were hunting and billiards. He indulged in gambling, womanizing, and heavy drinking, appearing to be a character of dissolute extravagance. His lifestyle was one of extreme extravagance, and his mansion on Lawrence Street—a splendidly opulent structure—had been purchased in 1945 from a wealthy Jewish merchant named Oltev i Gundoruf. He had a villa in Helsingør, but there had been no signs of the Count visiting it for about the past year. Mr. Gundoruf had naturalized as a French citizen and currently resided in Paris.

As Miss Ines had conjectured, Count Steensen closely resembled Prince Philip in both facial features and physique. His stature was slightly shorter than His Highness's, and his build appeared more fleshy. Yet he remained nearly indistinguishable. The sole difference lay in Count Steensen's beard. His voice remained undocumented. The household staff numbered eighteen in total. An extraordinary volume of correspondence arrived from South America—chiefly Argentina and Uruguay—with thick sealed letters having come approximately three times from Vesterbargen border customs two or three days prior.

During daytime hours, there were almost no visitors to the Count’s residence. Visitors would arrive in the evening, stay overnight at the Count’s residence, and then depart.

Countess Jelva was French, born in Avian, a suburb of Nancy—alluring and twenty-four years old, with the French name Leontine. As rumored, she went out with extraordinary frequency. “She has been embroiled in scandalous rumors with the renowned actor Henning Roman; yet Count Bergland Steensen appears completely unconcerned, and there are no signs of marital discord between them.” There was no way someone like Ralph "Cobra" could have conducted such meticulous inquiries. This tentative summary had of course been pieced together by Miss Ines, primarily from Ebbe’s reports supplemented by whatever Ralph—who kept shouting “Boss! Boss!” in his gratingly loud voice—brought to the table. But like Oge’s contributions, these materials hadn’t arrived all at once. Over the approximately two months since she had begun the stakeout—with reports submitted each time and from the moment she obtained these inquiries—the decisive evidence for this crime had gradually been brewing in Miss Ines’s mind.

And according to Miss Ines’s now-established perspective, the incident at the Dragen Ducal Residence could be reasoned as follows.

The culprit who stole the Sea Serpent Necklace was indeed Count Steensen. Count Steensen disguised himself as one of His Highness’s attendants and infiltrated the ducal residence. The one who approached the widow and pestered her for pocket money to buy airplane materials was undoubtedly this Count disguised as young Johannes.

While others were engrossed in shogi in the attendants’ waiting room next to the antechamber, Count Steensen secretly descended a spiral staircase in one corner of the room—this passageway became an underground tunnel lined with exposed Kibira stone, intersected two or three lateral passages, and eventually emerged beside the grand staircase leading to the second floor—a route Miss Ines had once inspected in reverse when guided along it by the butler’s sideburns. Count Steensen was ascending to the second floor through this passageway. The northernmost room on the second floor was currently being used as a storage space for guest-use feather quilts, bedding sheets, unused carpets, and similar items. Because they were frequently taken in and out, the lock wasn’t engaged. During a previous inspection of this room, Miss Ines had taken note of it. Undoubtedly, the Count had entered this room and donned young Johannes’s clothes that he had prepared in advance. Then, putting on an innocent face, he must have descended the main staircase, summoned the widow, and pestered her for pocket money.

Of course, he must have meticulously investigated in advance the young master’s clothing and appearance during his comings and goings to school and other occasions. At the same time, he must have thoroughly ascertained both that the young master was engrossed in building airplanes with his tutor and his absence from that evening’s banquet. And when told by the widow, “You may receive the money from the butler,” he—thanking her with “Thank you, Mother! Thank you, thank you!”—must have embraced her neck and kissed her, employing his peerless skill to seize the widow’s necklace in that moment. And he must have replaced it with the counterfeit there.

After committing the crime, he returned to the second floor, discarded Johannes’s clothes in the utility room, and changed into Prince Philip’s military uniform—though why he had gone to the trouble of changing into His Highness’s uniform there, when he should have simply donned an attendant’s outfit, was something Miss Ines could not fathom no matter how she considered it. She could not fathom it, but Miss Ines found herself utterly unable to doubt her own deduction. In any case, the Count—having perfectly assumed the guise of His Highness the Dragoon Captain—calmly descended the main staircase from the second floor. There, he encountered the maid Loviisa. Therefore, if Loviisa’s testimony about encountering His Highness descending from the second floor was truthful, then—since the real His Highness had not moved from his seat all along—the Dowager Duchess’s vehement attitude of refuting Loviisa’s words could also be deemed truthful.

After parting with Loviisa, the false prince (Count Steensen) slipped through the back staircase 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 attendants’ garb. Thus, when His Highness was due to depart, the Count nonchalantly joined the retinue—in this case having prepared not only the counterfeit necklace but two complete sets of attire: one for His Highness and another for young Johannes.

Moreover, considering he had left no evidence nor taken anything back with him, it seemed utterly inconceivable such an operation could have been executed without His Highness's endorsement or tacit approval. In other words, His Highness—maintaining an innocent facade—had sanctioned every aspect of the Count's crimes. The Dowager Duchess had mentioned that about four or five months before the incident, on a sweltering afternoon, His Highness had visited—or so he claimed—for a drive to Kita Namiki Street accompanied by an attractive maid. Of course, this too had not been the genuine prince. His Highness must have been aware of this deception, for the visiting "prince" had been none other than the disguised Count. Could it be... Could it be... that maid was Jelva—the French-born Madame Leontine? The possibility seemed plausible.

This was Miss Ines’s deduction regarding the Dragen case; if one assumed the Count was the culprit, the resolution of the Bjørge Mansion incident—which she had previously heard about from Prosecutor Hartoan—would immediately follow. In other words, His Highness who had asked Mrs. Ellen to dance in the ballroom was of course not the real Prince Philip. It was Count Steensen who had disguised himself as His Highness. His Highness had been unable to leave his seat of convivial conversation with the Minister of Shipping, Minister of Finance, and president of Bethlehem Steel Company from the start. And while dancing with Mrs. Ellen, he had made her inhale the anesthetic—exactly as she had surmised.

While Mrs. Ellen rested half-awake on a bench beneath the beech trees in the inner courtyard, he stole her bracelet and necklace. In that case too, he had safely withdrawn from the Bjørge Mansion as one of His Highness’s attendants. However—where within the Bjørge Mansion had the Count disguised himself as His Highness, and through what secret passage had he moved between the ballroom and attendants’ waiting room? And when and where he had examined Mrs. Ellen’s bracelets and necklaces to prepare counterfeits remained unclear. Since this was not a case Miss Ines had been directly involved in, those details stayed obscure; yet such matters would have been child’s play for a Count so versed in cunning. Had he wished to disguise himself, he could have done so even in a lavatory; had he wanted to examine the bracelets and necklaces, he could have investigated them at any time beforehand by impersonating His Highness Prince Philip.

As she considered this—"Thank you for earlier, Your Highness," the Countess had expressed her gratitude—he had seemed startled at first. "Ah, that was most satisfactory—nothing could be better." To this contrived reply from His Highness, there was ample reason to nod in understanding. In any case, that His Highness was the mastermind behind these incidents, the principal actor, and the shadow orchestrator now left not a shred of doubt.

While Count Steensen’s crimes were of course unforgivable, compared to His Highness’s facade... As President of the Orphanage Association, President of the Elderly Care Association, President of the Danish Red Cross Society—and particularly according to Oge’s inquiries—on visiting days, fifteen or sixteen unfortunate people would gather: the disabled, the diseased, orphans, widows. Miss Ines flushed crimson at the realization that His Highness—who publicly bestowed mercy upon those people while privately scheming such insidious crimes and inciting the Count—was in truth a villain tenfold, twentyfold, a hundredfold multiplied greater than the Count himself, the greatest scoundrel among scoundrels.

Of course, the stolen goods were likely still hidden in Count Steensen’s possession, so first they would have to raid his estate—but beyond that, they needed to confront His Highness with irrefutable evidence: thrusting the Count himself as a living witness before this sham president, this sham philanthropist, this sham hypocrite—this terrifying swindler of a Phantom Thief His Highness—and strip away his very skin. At this thought, Miss Ines trembled with fury. This was no mere sorrow of disillusionment—no such mild sentiment. It was a fury honed to its utmost limit.

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

“Boss Lady! Boss Lady!”

And so, the day Cobra sniffed out had finally arrived.

“I tell ya, that’s one hell of a house—a regular den of demons! There’s a secret workshop in the basement, I tell ya. They’ve got it locked up tighter than a royal vault—not even a single servant’s allowed near the place! That’s where they’re takin’ apart the stolen jewels, I’d bet my fangs on it. Counterfeits and such ain’t work for amateurs—probably got ’em made somewheres far off, not that I’d know details. Never mind that, Boss Lady! Raid it! Raid it now! The Cobra’s eyes ain’t just for show, I tell ya!”

There was an air of high-spirited fervor about him. The French-born Madame’s father had been a village metalworker. With a metalworker for a father, dismantling stolen necklaces and bracelets would naturally be something she could accomplish without difficulty. Furthermore, another critical report arrived from Ebbe. The old man who was said to be a former tutor they had once met at a club with Prosecutor Hartoan… that seemingly honest old man had visited the Count’s estate four or five days prior and had yet to show his face again.

Going to Argentina early next month? Like hell he is! He was still loitering somewhere in the city. Moreover, once he had entered the estate, there was absolutely no indication he had left anywhere. It was this old man who stood as the liaison between Prince Philip and the Count, Miss Ines discerned. Thus Miss Ines's intuition solidified into conviction, and that conviction now burned fiercely within her, reaching its boiling point.

If this decisive move proves wrong, I'll take down my detective shingle for good! With that resolve hardening in her core, However, when finally moving to act, one problem emerged. Senators and corporate executives mattered little—the true difficulty lay in their target's noble lineage, meaning a private detective couldn't recklessly intervene without authorization from official channels. All while His Highness Prince Philip waited in the wings.

Having finally resolved herself, Miss Ines went to visit the Commissioner of the National Police Bureau one day to seek official authorization. Approximately two and a half months had passed since they first met that old tutor and began surveilling the Count’s estate and His Highness’s movements—the brief summer of the northern land had already faded, and a desolate autumn now encroached upon the region.

Countess and the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs’ Daughter

The Commissioner, considering the possibility of miscalculation, refrained from dispatching reinforcements from the National Police Bureau but agreed that seven or eight plainclothes officers from the City Police Department could be deployed. While it was too dangerous to entrust Cobra with the task, Oge had seven operatives he had been keeping an eye on for some time, Ebbe had four, and combined with the City Police Department, this brought the total raiding party to twenty. The plan was settled: while Miss Ines skillfully distracted the Count during his outing, these individuals would storm in and conduct an exhaustive house search all at once.

While watching for an opportunity today or tomorrow, the situation took a 180-degree turn.

The estate was in an uproar—they had apparently finished dismantling the stolen goods and were preparing to move them overseas! This report came from Ebbe. After confirming Ebbe’s information, Cobra’s intelligence arrived. Three large pieces of luggage had been loaded onto the Augusta today, bound for Rio de Janeiro via Pernambuco. At Naagel Clock Shop on Bagersgade’s corner, Countess Jelva—acting quite beneath her station—had personally purchased a cheap brass singing clock measuring roughly ten inches tall and eight inches wide. It appeared the Countess planned to depart alone first.

Miss Ines intuited that they were packing the gems inside this clock.

Cobra seemed to think the same.

Now, how many days had passed since Miss Ines, having confirmed that the Countess had boarded the Continental Express bound for Hamburg via Fredericia-Flensburg from Central Station, hurriedly leapt onto the train’s rearmost car? It was a chilly day with a misty rain soaking through from morning. They must have judged that this way would draw less attention. In the first-class compartment of the fifth car from the front—in Danish, this is called a 'hytte'. In that compartment, without even a maid in tow and maintaining the facade 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 declaring it had been bought as some trifling souvenir nearby. Miss Ines was convinced this plain paper package that drew no curious glances contained none other than the jewel-laden singing clock. In the third-class car of the seventh carriage from the rear, three City Police Department detectives kept watch among ordinary passengers. At the entrance of the front second-class car sat the National Police Bureau's Deputy Director in plain clothes, disguised as a passenger.

Miss Ines had not brought Oge or Ebbe, having only Ralph "Cobra" with her. "To think I'm chasing the Sea Serpent Necklace with Cobra, a venomous snake on land!" She smiled wryly at the irony of this pairing. She remained standing on the first-class deck until the compartment was prepared. The efforts of the National Police Bureau and the City Police Department must have been thoroughly deployed. The real conductor had withdrawn into the compartment, “Are you the young lady of Mr. Olsen?”

Just then, Cobra—disguised as a conductor—approached and gave a slight bow before the female detective posing as Miss Olsen, the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs’ daughter. "I shall inform the Countess at once, so please wait a short while longer." "The Countess holds a through ticket to Bremen."

he informed her. Then, as he turned to leave, he glanced around and twisted his cheek into a crooked grin. “Boss, you really do have sharp eyes, I tell ya. The real deal’s in the cardboard box package, ain’t no mistake. He’s already a rat in a bag, I tell ya.” he encouraged her. As the train finally drew near Lynris-Hafen, “Now, please go ahead, Miss. I’ve made arrangements with the Countess.” Cobra the conductor led the way into the compartment. For the first time, she came face-to-face with the Countess. No wonder she had caught the Count’s eye back in her dancing days in Lyon—her dewy eyes, her captivatingly moist eyelashes, those slender legs that somehow evoked a panther’s lithe grace! Wrapped in opulent mink fur, with a tiger-patterned lap blanket placed at her side, she presented herself with a dazzling allure adorned with the grace of a noblewoman.

“Now then, Madam—if you would be so kind as to share this compartment with this young lady until Hamburg!” “Unfortunately, it’s quite crowded.” “Madam, pardon the intrusion.” The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs’ daughter also took her seat across from Madam with similar grace. “Please, make yourself at home!” Returning a cordial smile, the Countess leaned her cheek against the window frame and gazed obliquely at the passing scenery outside. Whether it was her beauty, elegance, or magnanimity, from every angle she was an upper-class noblewoman without a single flaw. Her eyes were especially striking in their seductiveness! Aha—this must be her! The woman who accompanied the fake His Highness Prince Philip to inspect the necklace! And from the Dowager Duchess—the woman believed to be His Highness’s favorite! She nodded. The cardboard box package in question had been carelessly tossed onto the luggage rack. One of the suitcases was at her feet; the other, smaller one had been carefully drawn close to her side.

Anyone looking would think the suitcase drawn close contained something important. She wanted to find a way to get closer, but she couldn’t simply strike up a conversation carelessly. Miss Ines also placed one leg on her own suitcase, took out a magazine, and began reading. Peering from behind her magazine, she saw the Countess writing briskly on a telegram form with a fountain pen, her expression thoughtful. When she finished writing, likely intending to ask the conductor or someone, she opened the door and left.

When she returned shortly thereafter—wearing an expression that seemed to declare her business concluded as neatly as a sealed kiss—she pulled the lap blanket closer, and in that instant, their eyes met. She beamed a dimpled smile and addressed her in a tone that brooked no escape.

“Where might you be traveling to, Miss?” “Oh, I... uh... am going to Paris.”

“Why Paris! I myself am going to Bremen, so we’ll be able to travel together for a while. How wonderful—if you arrive around this time, Paris should still be quite warm. The Champs-Élysées must be bustling splendidly, isn’t that lovely?” She narrowed her eyes in a rapturous trance. “Since I too grew up in Paris as a child, I could never forget those sights—no matter how much time passes, you know.”

She murmured as if to herself. “Which part of Paris did you stay in?”

This time, the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs’ daughter inquired. "Oh, well... in the Latin Quarter, you see—across the Seine, around where you can see the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe... My father had been running a business there for many years, you see." “It’s truly a nostalgic place indeed.”

Her voice flowed refreshingly like water. With a snap, she opened the jewel-inlaid amber cigarette case. "How about one? Miss, please have one."

She too took one and exhaled a stream of fragrant smoke. In Denmark, Copenhagen is called the merchant city. “Where in Copenhagen do you reside?” “Oh, my father has an official residence on Kingsway... But I have an uncle in Boston, you see—I spent many years there since childhood.” “Since he passed away, when I returned home, even my own homeland somehow felt like a foreign country. Ohohohoho!”

And this Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs' daughter, recently returned from America, proved no less eloquent than the Countess, matching her fluency word for word.

“Oh, if you’ve spent so long over there, you must feel that way indeed.” And the Countess fluttered her passionate-looking eyes.

“I reside on Lawrence Street, you know. You are aware of it, are you not? A most tranquil spot beside that square where the Glyptotek museum is located… My name is Jelva Steensen. If you inquire about Count Steensen, they’ll recognize it immediately. When you return, please do pay a visit.” “If anything, I should be the one saying that! Please do! My name is Clara Olsen.”

The female detective gradually deepened her involvement with the Vice-Minister’s daughter, but there could hardly have been a more hollow exchange in the world than this conversation—a duel of deception between fox and badger. The claim that Vice-Minister Olsen’s brother had been in Boston and died there would surely make the real Vice-Minister reel in shock, while the assertion that the Countess’s father was a merchant living in Paris was equally dubious. According to Miss Ines’s investigation, this woman had been born in Avian Village on the outskirts of Nancy and moved to Lyon City at the age of eight. Her father had been a village metalworker; after his business failed and he could no longer bear staying in the village, he had worked as a laundryman in Lyon City. Driven by hand-to-mouth poverty, this woman had taken to being a dancer since the age of fourteen. From childhood, she had possessed sticky fingers, and during her time as a dancer, she had stolen from her peers—even being arrested twice by Lyon City police.

By sixteen, she had taken up with a gambler as her lover, been lured by him into fleeing to Marseille, defaulted on an advance from a disreputable establishment, and found herself facing legal charges. At eighteen—abandoned by that man—she had been noticed by Count Steensen, then a student at Lyon University, thus gradually infiltrating the Count’s household to attain a position of ostensibly distinguished standing; yet how long had this debt-defaulting Countess and this detective—posing as Miss Olsen, the Vice-Minister’s daughter under an assumed name—persisted in their fox-and-badger duel of deceptive banter?

“How about one? Would you care to have some?” Amidst the idle moments in the train car, the Countess placed into her mouth a piece of high-quality chocolate she had taken from her travel bag—manufactured by Inge Department Store.

The Vice-Minister's daughter also took out a cigarette case, struck a match, and offered it with a "Please." “Abdullah No. 16, isn’t it? A fine cigarette… Though I do find this one a bit too strong for my taste…”

Before long, the train finished its dash and entered Kuzol Station, panting.

“Madam, if you’ll excuse me for a moment…” As the young lady alighted from the train car and began pacing back and forth along the lengthy platform to breathe fresh air, one of the supporting detectives—disguised as a passenger in third class—passed by her while similarly strolling up and down the platform. As they passed each other, this detective—perhaps at Cobra’s request—uttered a soliloquy in a ventriloquist-like voice without moving his lips. “Tomorrow morning at 6:30, we arrive at Hammersfegen. “A room has been prepared at the Nessengelt Hotel for Countess Steensen.” Since it was a soliloquy, there was no need to respond. Maintaining her composure, as the detective passed by without acknowledgment, Miss Ines likewise returned to the compartment without so much as a glance, resuming her role as Miss Olsen once more. Hammersfegen and Bremen lay in vastly different directions—roughly west and south respectively.

If one were to purchase a through ticket under the pretense of going to Bremen while actually heading to Hammersfegen, the train would have to transfer at Flensburg, the West German border station. Given this, the young lady’s work had to be completed within the roughly four hours remaining until reaching Flensburg Station. While keeping her eyes on the magazine, the ball-shaped parcel on the luggage rack finally began to gnaw at her with anxiety.

As if trying to discern that anxiety, the Countess’s smiling eyes occasionally flickered across the young lady’s face while feigning nonchalance. Ah—the detective had cause to nod. Whether she was bound for Bremen or Hammersfegen, this woman’s destination remained unclear, but she had first sent a decoy telegram to Hammersfegen to test whether I was a detective by reading my reactions. Her frequent exits from the compartment since earlier must have been to observe my behavior during her absence. To display even a feather’s weight of impatience now would amount to confessing myself as a detective. Whether privy to Miss Ines’s thoughts or not, the Countess maintained her elegant composure while addressing her cheerfully at intervals. To avoid betraying herself, the Vice-Minister’s daughter kept her replies terse, yet what she had discerned in that time was this woman’s extraordinary intellect. She might have been light-fingered and boy-mad since girlhood, but having caught the Count’s eye after all—her mind was remarkably, almost acutely developed! She couldn’t help marveling.

The train finally entered Vesterbargen Station at the very edge of Danish territory. From this station to Flensburg, the West German border station, it was about forty minutes. When the train departed the station, customs officers from Denmark and West Germany were scheduled to board for luggage inspection. Moreover, as this station served as a junction for local trains bound for Tondur and lay near the scenic Vogelhorns area, sightseers with children, passengers boarding and alighting, and smugglers alike would likely take a breather there; gazing at the distant mountains of the North Frisian Islands beyond the misty waves of the North Sea, the lengthy platform was bustling considerably.

While gazing at the bustling crowd and pacing back and forth as usual, a different detective from before approached from the opposite direction. As they passed each other, the detective tossed a small rolled-up scrap of paper into a pocket as he went by. Later, when someone entered the restroom and opened it,

"Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, arrival in Oberurn. Please prepare a room at the Falk Hotel. Countess Steensen." The Countess’s intentions had become unmistakably clear. Though her destination remained uncertain for now, it would likely be revealed within the next twenty to thirty minutes—by the time the customs inspection concluded. At any rate, it was evident she wasn’t bound for Bremen, Hammersfegen, or Oberurn. Her act of dispatching telegrams to hotels in locations she never intended to visit served as irrefutable proof that she had shrewdly deduced Miss Ines’s identity as a detective. Calculating that all such messages would reach the young lady’s ears unimpeded, she had been flooding every conceivable destination with fake telegrams in a deliberate campaign of disorientation.

Very well then—the young lady's mind was made up. Once her decision solidified, there was no longer any need for haste. Since they were likely colluding with customs officers to stage an act, she resolved to monitor their movements and arrest them all in one decisive sweep.

The Vesterbargen customs officers As the car approached the slope, two customs officers knocked on the door.

“Border Customs. We will need to inspect your luggage.” The West German customs officers appeared to have delegated everything to their Danish counterparts, standing idle at the entrance while a thin Danish officer in his early thirties and his superior—a portly man around forty—thoroughly inspected the luggage, turning each piece over with meticulous care. Of course, Miss Ines’s luggage contained nothing that would cause concern if inspected. It held merely a change of clothes, a spare undergarment or two for emergencies, and men’s trousers for potential disguise. Though these were simply suitcases meant to maintain her traveler’s facade, even these items were being picked up one by one and shaken—while, as expected, the Countess’s luggage received only cursory glances before being stamped through customs. The young lady’s gaze remained fixed on every movement of the portly customs officer. Her particular focus lingered on that ball-shaped parcel resting on the luggage rack.

The customs officer’s hands worked on it, and the string came undone smoothly. From within the ball-shaped box that had been briefly glanced into emerged a rectangular, gold-plated, cheap-looking singing clock—exactly as Ebbe had reported earlier. “Madam, what is this?”

The portly customs officer stood imposingly, his demeanor domineering. "It's a clock... A singing clock!" "For a clock, it seems quite heavy." "Inside... inside it, I've actually packed some of my personal accessories, you see." "That won't do! You mustn't do such things!" "If you're trying to evade customs' scrutiny, you can't complain about being misunderstood!" "Open it up and show me the inside."

Blocked by the portly customs officer standing imposingly before the Countess, the young lady couldn’t see from her position, but it appeared that the Countess was opening the clock’s back cover to show him. The moment this happened, the customs officer’s thick, hoarse voice rang out with particular force.

“No good, no good! Madam, isn’t this contraband? I can’t let this through as it stands. It must first be inspected at customs.” “Then… does that mean confiscation?” “I cannot state whether it will be confiscated or returned until completing our investigation, Madam. In any event, you cannot remain aboard as you are—you must accompany me to customs immediately. Prepare to disembark at the next station. We will retain this item pending further examination.”

Once again, the clock was placed back into the ball-shaped box, carelessly tied with string, and the customs officer departed.

“Oh, how utterly preposterous! This is beyond absurd!” “Such nonsense… I packed my own ring, and now they’ve taken it!” “And now they demand I report to customs?!” “How perfectly ridiculous this all is!”

With a deliberately bitter smile, she sorted through the luggage that had been thoroughly searched by the customs officers. The young lady kept her gaze fixed on the scene. When the tidying was finally completed, "There's still twenty minutes..."

She sat down in the seat while looking at a wristwatch. “Please.” After opening the case and offering it to her, she took one and polished the lighter. Here it comes at last! She gave a wry smile. With a snap, she opened the case—this time, instead of offering it as before, she took a cigarette from the center of the case and moved it to a corner as if commanding, “Up you go there!” Three or four were lined up as if to declare. “Though you’ve gone to the trouble, Madam, I’ve decided not to accept your cigarettes.” “I must decline, Madam.”

“Oh!” “What a peculiar thing to say—what are you playing at?” The Countess’s alluring eyes glinted.

“But I—” A sneer flickered across her face. The time had finally come for the fox and badger to expose each other’s true selves. “I’ve no desire to accept your anesthetic as a parting gift on my way out.” “Anesthetic? A parting gift on your way out? Anesthetic?” “What are you talking about?” “I can’t make heads or tails of what you’re saying—” While wearing a suspicious smile, her smiling hand crept slowly into her coat pocket.

“Planning to dose me with anesthetic before we disembark at Flensburg next station—my, how delightfully wicked of you, Madam.” “...”

Her smile vanished from her lips as flames flashed in her eyes.

“Then... then...” In the next instant, a hand darted out. “W-well... how about this?”

As expected came the muzzle of a lady’s compact pistol! But she was quicker. “Here I go, Madam—pop! If you make even the slightest suspicious move—” The muzzle pressed against the Countess’s torso gouged relentlessly into her body.

“Put your hands up higher! Hey, raise them higher! A bit more... Hey, a bit higher up!” Seizing the opportunity with a resounding crack, she struck the opponent’s gun-holding hand with her pistol. “Agh!” In her exasperation came a bang! The Countess’s bullet missed its target and struck the door behind her, thick white smoke billowing up. She swiftly swept aside the fallen pistol with her shoe. “Madam, sit there! I told you not to move your hands! My gun isn’t just for show! I said sit down! Don’t you understand?!”

Gnashing her teeth with a ferocious look as though ready to pounce, the Countess reluctantly lowered herself into the seat. “Still moving your hands?! I told you to raise them! Do you want to be shot?!”

Reluctantly, she fired a warning shot. Again, white smoke billowed thickly as the bullet pierced through the windowpane and flew off into the vast sky. At the acrid smell of gunpowder that stung her nostrils, the Countess finally stopped moving her hands, her face pale. Keeping her aim trained on the heart, she gradually began to back away. Even as the train charged forward with earth-shaking momentum, the deafening roar of two gunshots and the acrid stench of gunpowder would have been more than enough to shatter the passengers’ tranquility. "Open up! Open up!" The door was being battered as if it would shatter. Keeping the muzzle trained on the Countess, she released the door latch with her free hand behind her back. With Cobra at the forefront, two detectives rushed in, their gun muzzles aligned. "What’s this? What’s this!" And from behind, passengers came surging in without cease.

“Alright, Boss Lady, I’ll take care of it.”

“Miss, get back!” “We’ll handle the rest.”

“Look out! Look out!” “It’s dangerous! Don’t come in! Don’t come in, Leontine!” “Still moving your hands?!”

And for the first time, he called the Countess by her French name.

“It’s fine! It’s fine，Ralph! Quickly search inside that woman’s clothes! She has it! She has it! She’s hiding a dagger!”

The instant the train must have made a sharp curve, it swayed so violently that one could hardly remain standing. Danger!

The moment she ducked, the dagger thrown by the Countess sliced through the air and flashed before her eyes. "Ah!"

A terrible scream rang out, and there was the sense that someone behind had collapsed. It couldn’t be helped—she let off another warning shot through the glass window. “Ugh, damn it! Still resisting, huh?!” Cobra and one of the detectives rushed in and restrained the woman. The one who had collapsed was one of the swarming passengers. “Stop the bleeding! Quickly, the blood!” “This is bad! Is there a doctor here? A doctor?!” “Stop the train!” “Conductor! Conductor!” “Is there a conductor?!”

“It’s the female detective! The female detective!” “We’ve caught the smuggling! The smuggling!” Passengers came surging in like an avalanche, one after another. The Deputy Director, his voice hoarse, was desperately driving them out to the deck. One of the detectives stood guard, and finally the commotion began to subside. Searching the inner pocket of the Countess—rigid as a wax figure with eyes glaring fiercely—Cobra retrieved a fountain pen-shaped dagger sharpened to a razor’s edge, about five inches long, along with another dagger… The rest were mere accessories: a watch, rings, and the like—nothing of consequence.

While posing as an aged noblewoman, they had completely exposed the vulgar woman’s true nature with a pistol and two daggers.

“There’s a customs official with tag number thirty-eight. He’s part of her gang. The stolen goods have been passed to him from the woman. A fat man around forty! He’s currently inspecting them in the rear compartment. Hurry, hurry! Before the train stops!” The instant Countess Leontine let out a bizarre scream and convulsed violently.

“Hey you! Still thrashing around?!” Cobra lunged forward and clamped his hand over her mouth. “Deputy Director sir—may I arrest the customs official while he’s on duty?” “Granted.” At the detectives’ ineptitude, the young lady screamed.

“He colluded with this woman during his duties.” “His identity has also been confirmed.” “Hurry! Hurry!” “Once they’ve hidden the stolen goods, it’ll be too late.” “Hurry, hurry! Please restrain them and bring them here...” “Alright, go catch them!”

As the Deputy Director bellowed. Two detectives rushed off.

After several anxious minutes had passed... the fat customs official, flanked front and back by two detectives, finally arrived carrying the infamous ball-shaped box package. “By what right can you people commit such reckless acts—arresting a customs official in the middle of an inspection without any reason... without any reason?” “For the Deputy Director of the National Police Agency—a man of your position—to lack even this basic understanding is beyond unreasonable.” “Even as we waste time here, smuggling operations are proceeding unchecked—who in the world will take responsibility for this mess?!” “Unreasonable! Unreasonable!” “Alright! I will report this to the Customs Director and file a lawsuit with the Administrative Court.” “Even the National Police Agency—this is the utmost insult!”

“There’s no need for you to get so worked up.” “Let me clarify—we have not arrested you.” The Deputy Director calmly said.

“Due to urgent and unavoidable circumstances, we asked you here to inspect the contents of that ball-shaped box you took away, necessary for interrogating this woman.” “In that case, didn’t I clearly state I’d temporarily hold it at customs since the contents are contraband?!” “Haven’t I already instructed this woman to disembark at the next station and accompany us to customs?” “Yet you’re speaking as if I’m acting arbitrarily and conspiring with her—isn’t that your implication?”

“Ralph!” “Never mind that—inspect that ball-shaped box!”

Unable to bear it any longer, Miss Ines ordered Cobra. Having given the order, she planted herself in front of the customs official. “You insist on acting as though you’re complete strangers to this lady,” declared Miss Ines, “but given that you were employed at customs through this lady’s husband’s connections, we do not believe for a moment that you and Her Ladyship here are mere acquaintances.” “That’s precisely why we asked you to come here... Ralph, what are you doing?” “Hurry up and check it already!”

“What? You mean to say I’m not exactly a stranger to this lady…?” “Is that not precisely the case? Still playing innocent, are we, Mr. Mogens Norby!” “…………” The customs official’s face abruptly paled.

“What were you doing until March of last year? You served as steward to His Highness Prince Philip—to His Highness Prince Sven Philip—did you not? Given that Her Ladyship here left the royal household due to His Highness’s reforms and you were employed at Vesterbargen Customs through the influence of her husband, Count Bergland Steensen, we can hardly think you and this lady are complete strangers.”

“…………”

Meanwhile, by Cobra’s hand, the singing clock was extracted from the ball-shaped box. “See here, Boss! This thing’s a fake, just like I suspected!” “See? The back’s gotta have a brass lid... and... look here! There it is—just like I said.” “Now when ya open this lid up—gotta be stuffed full o’ cotton inside… see?” “See? This one’s exactly like I said, no doubt about it!”

As Cobra had said, when they twisted off the lid and removed the cotton inside, instead of finding machinery as one might expect, the clock’s internal components had all been taken out. Wrapped in yet more cotton were dazzling diamonds, sapphires, and rubies—among them large stones of one-, two-, three-, four-, and even five-carat sizes. ...and the platinum chain had been dismantled, its pieces lying scattered... “Oh, the necklace!” “Looks like these belong to Mrs. Bjørge!”

“We won’t know unless we assemble it, but that seems to be the case.” “Alright! If that’s true, then both the Sea Serpent Necklace and Mrs. Bjørge’s bracelet must still be at the Count’s place, yeah?”

Of course, they opened the two travel bags as well, but as expected, not a trace of jewels could be seen.

“Stop resisting!”

The Deputy Director’s roar resounded.

“The evidence of criminal activity is clear.” “Eimu, handcuff the lady!” “And while we’re at it, you’ll be placed in handcuffs too.”

At that moment, lights shone in the midnight darkness as the train switched through several points, finally entering West German Flensburg Station's premises. If they dawdled, even the crucial Count might flee to who knows where. The group decided to disembark there to immediately take the Countess and customs official into custody and raid the Count's residence. Of course, the young lady had no desire to flaunt her intuition before others. Let alone her skills as a detective! However, the evidentiary value of collusion against customs official Mogens Norby—who had conspired with the Count's family to exploit temporary customs seizures as an ideal loophole for obscuring detectives' scrutiny while attempting to facilitate smuggling stolen goods abroad—remained exceedingly weak with only this evidence. Additionally, she had to clearly establish it as evidence.

“Deputy Director sir, when we exit the station premises, there should be a car prepared around there. Please escort these people that far.” As the young lady had surmised, there in the dim shadow of the trees sat a new Renault car parked expectantly. Before the handcuffed portly Norby, the Countess, detectives encircling them, and the ring formed by the Deputy Director and Cobra, an exchange commenced between the young lady and the honest-looking driver in the driver’s seat stifling a yawn.

“Driver, are you certain this is the Vesterbargen Customs car?” “Y-yes, Miss!”

“Since you know nothing at all, you needn’t worry. All you need to do is answer my questions honestly and truthfully, and that will be just fine! Due to certain circumstances, those present here are the Deputy Director of the National Police Agency… and detectives. Now then, before we proceed, I’d like you to state your name.” Name: Kai Hansen. Address: such-and-such... The detective jotted it down in their notebook.

“Now then, Mr. Hansen, please tell me exactly as it is. Who asked you to wait here tonight?”

“It was Mr. Mogens Norby, you see.” “…Isn’t that Mr. Norby standing right there?”

Pointed at by the driver, Mr. Norby, in handcuffs, hurriedly turned his face away. “Where did Mr. Norby say he wanted you to go?”

“I believe he said... to the Kempelshof Airport ahead...” “Did he say anything else?” “He said there’d be someone arriving on the 8:15 train from Copenhagen, and since I had to get that person to the airport, I needed to have the car ready in time.” “Yes, I understand perfectly. But did he mention anything about which flight you were 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 that one.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hansen. That will be all.” “How far is it from here to the airport?”

“Well, about ten miles... Maybe a bit more?” “Mr. Hansen, you may go home now. Since the guest won’t be coming due to unforeseen circumstances, you are dismissed.” “Oh, wait a second—I need you to sign this.” One of the detectives recorded the previous exchange. Having him sign to confirm its accuracy, the driver then tilted his head repeatedly with a puzzled expression before departing, making it clear where the Countess had planned to escape to.

“How about it, Mr. Norby and Countess! Does this still count as a legitimate temporary customs seizure?” “Does this still count as a legitimate temporary customs seizure?”

The customs official turned completely pale and was utterly cowed, but the Countess—who should have been demure—revealed her true nature as the daughter of a metalworker and a laundress, her mouth still sharp beneath the handcuffs as she raged and raged!

“You damn vixen! You really fed me that smooth talk while stuffing your face! You damn beast! You think I didn’t know from the start you were a detective?! You peasant-born mistake of nature, you feeble mutt!”

Such was her tone. She laughed it off without engaging, but like oiled paper catching fire, her hair stood on end as she stamped her exposed thighs in frustration and narrowed her eyes sharply. “Ah, how infuriating! What am I to do with this woman?!” “Did you all underestimate Senator Count Steensen?” “The Count is royalty!” “Royalty through and through—the brother of His Majesty the King and Prince Philip!” “The Prime Minister, the Home Minister, even the Police Chief—you think any of that shit matters?!” “When that time comes, don’t you dare grovel on the ground saying you underestimated us!” “You police bitch in heat!”

How could her countenance change so drastically! She stiffened as if frozen, her hair disheveled, her visage that of a demon.

Count Bergland Steensen

How many hours had passed after that when the group stormed the Count’s estate—presenting the enraged and exhausted Countess along with Customs Officer Norby trailing behind her, these undeniable living witnesses—to persuade the Count to leave the country peacefully? I recall it was around mid-morning when the gentle sunlight bathed in full measure the second-floor windows of the grand white-chalk Count’s mansion beside the Glyptotek museum, its expansive front garden, and the rear garden visible beyond the Renaissance-style colonnade.

When they got out of the car and approached the entrance, they felt as though a dark figure was staring down at them through the second-floor window.

“We’re from the National Police Agency.”

“Please wait a moment.”

The servant who had withdrawn soon reappeared. "His Lordship will be with you shortly; you all, please wait here." Into the antechamber they had been shown into, the Count soon emerged with loud footsteps. Indeed, when they had entered earlier, it had been the Count who was intently watching from above. He must have already sensed everything from the atmosphere.

Well-groomed, with neatly combed hair and a trimmed mustache beneath his nose, his slightly plump body was undoubtedly the Count they had previously investigated through photographs.

Had one encountered this man without prior knowledge—given his piercing gaze, elongated face, stature, and bearing—they might well have mistaken him for Prince Philip, were it not for the mustache beneath his nose. He was so much the spitting image of His Highness as seen in photographs. But even if their faces were similar, he lacked any trace of dignity. Though forcing an air of decorum, his eyes never ceased moving, giving off an impression of perpetual vigilance. Moreover, despite his slight plumpness, his entire bearing suggested the supple agility of a leopard—indeed! There was something about him that compelled this realization.

By this time, in accordance with their arrangements, National Police Agency officers had likely secured every exit of the Count’s residence and all intersections in the town. Seeming like reinforcements, seven or eight plainclothes officers entered behind the group with pistols in hand.

“Count! As you can see.” The Deputy Director stepped forward. “I need not explain anything further. You must already understand. Considering your status, we will not resort to rough methods. Please comply calmly with our instructions.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This show of force—are you saying you intend to bind me?”

The Count muttered in a low voice. “Count, we will not arrest you. An imperial edict for your deportation has been issued. If Your Lordship complies with our arrangements and departs peacefully, that will suffice.” “……”

With resolute silence, the Count stood rigidly, biting his lip. "I will now convey the contents of the imperial edict." "Boarding location: Nyborg Port. Boarding must occur within three hours of this notice. Destination is at your discretion..."

The customs official was hanging his head, but, "You! "You! "You! Do something already!" "You! Hurry up and command these wretches already!" "Outrageous... utterly outrageous!" The Countess raised her handcuffed hands and erupted in rage once more. "This humiliation... to suffer this humiliation!" "If you would just hurry up and declare your royal lineage to these wretches, that would be splendid, wouldn’t it!" "Disgraceful! To be subjected to these lowly officials and suffer such humiliation—"

“Shut up, you’re unbearable!” “It’s because you’re an idiot that you ended up in this situation!” “Stop your blabbering!” “What’s this? To act so disgracefully now of all times—”

The Count bellowed. “Indeed, I am royal! “No matter what anyone says, I am undeniably royal!” “I am the prince of the late King Oscar III!” “But explaining such things to these low-ranking officials would be futile.”

The Count closed his eyes and groaned. "After making such declarations... Now you intend to lay all the blame on me alone?" "Aren't you equally guilty?!" "Come on, hurry up! Tell these wretches to remove my handcuffs!" "Disgusting! Disgusting! Having these things put on me!" "Shut up, you foolish woman!" "You blundered and sneakily ushered in these wretches!" "Where the hell is there any place for your blathering now?!"

Burning with rage and hatred, the Count glared at his wife as though she were a mortal enemy. "Very well! Life is but gambling... I shall claim this throw as my loss!" "This time, I have been thoroughly defeated by you all!" "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" He suddenly erupted in mad laughter. "Very well, I shall comply." "If exile is your demand, then exile I shall accept." "I remain Count Steensen." "I won't disgrace myself with unsightly theatrics like that woman at this final hour."

“Now then, Count, allow us to conduct a physical inspection.” Two detectives drew near, leaving him no recourse. Standing rigid with arms thrust horizontally into the pockets of his Western-style trousers, the Count permitted his person to be searched. There was no indication he bore any weapons. “You contemptible coward!” “All that grand talk—look at this pitiful state!” “You disgrace of a man!” “Who was it that boasted year-round—‘Join me! Live in luxury! I’m the king’s own brother!’—eh?!” “You womanizing mongrel!” “How dare you! How dare you deceive me?!”

“Shut your mouth!” Another bellow was hurled.

“You lot could never understand a man’s feelings! What’s this? You bungled things like an idiot and even wrecked someone’s plans!”

Once again, the Count’s eyes burned.

“Very well, the stolen goods are all here.” “Here stands the world’s greatest fool of a man, whose escape plans and everything else were ruined by that foolish woman.” “Yet this great fool will not feign remorse even at this critical hour.” “I shall present everything for your inspection.” “But before that—” Once again, the Count turned his eyes toward his wife with loathing. They were eyes cold as a snake’s—beyond cruel or brutal.

“First, have that woman taken away.” “She’s an eyesore!” “Take that clamoring woman where she belongs—Gonzalès, open that door!”

“Damn you! Damn you all!”

The Countess, gnashing her teeth in fury, and the customs official were dragged out by two or three detectives. Beyond the door opened by Gonzalès—a flustered man of mixed Black and white heritage who appeared to be from South America and had been fumbling about nearby—lay an even larger room than this one, its center dominated by a grand table encircled by five or six armchairs. Indeed, had everyone arrived a moment later, the Count might well have completed his escape as he boasted. On the grand table sat two large traveling bags, with lap blankets arranged beside them as if prepared for a journey.

“Gentlemen, behold!” The Count unlocked it and swiftly 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 crammed in a dazzling array. “No need to rush—now, take your seats! To save you gentlemen the trouble, I shall explain where they came from. And I have a few more things to say. Gonzalès! Bring the champagne. Why don’t I offer a glass to everyone as well!”

"Count, as we will be conducting a house search, I must ask you to keep your explanation as brief as possible." Unable to endure any longer, the Deputy Director interjected.

“We are not here for leisure, so we will not accept anything at all.” “Oh, there’s no need to be so stiff. Why not relax a little? If you gentlemen aren’t facing some petty thief, perhaps you should show more respect for your opponent’s feelings. Since you’re not spouting nonsense about arrests, I’m trying to save you the trouble. Step forward now! Everything’s been unpacked. The frontmost piece here is what I received from the Hemmel family in 1946. The one above it—”

Of course, no one took this theatrically affected Count’s words seriously. The moment they heard "Hemmel family," they instinctively peered into the suitcase, pistols in hand. Gonzalès poured and served champagne around.

“Now then, gentlemen, raise your glasses! There exists Christ’s Last Supper, but this shall be Count Steensen’s farewell to exile! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

Only his forced laughter echoed hollowly, and of course, none of them reached for the poured wineglasses. The Count stood alone at the host’s seat, merely raising his wineglass. But at that instant,

“Got you!”

Something flashed across the young lady's vision. Swiftly, impossibly swiftly! Like heat shimmer or lightning—the Count had barely drawn a paper packet from his inner pocket before he was already guzzling liquor straight from the bottle. "The silver piece beside it holds the Sea Serpent's setting." "The diamonds nestle at its rightmost end." "You there! Beauty in masculine garb!" "You appear to be this affair's principal player—step forward!" "Reveal your face fully and observe carefully!" "The serpentine necklace you covet glitters yonder!" "Yes... There lies your prize."

Once she had been spotted, there was no helping it. The spot where the young lady stepped forward lay directly beneath a bronze statue, where a towering nude female figure stood displayed so grandly one had to crane their neck upward.

“There’s also the Blanche family’s necklace.” “Count Steensen’s painstaking collection has been reduced to shambles thanks to your kindness.” “Oh, I shan’t forget your kindness—especially yours, madam!” “Your kindness!” The Count’s eyes glinted sharply over the young lady—and the moment she saw this, his right hand, which had been stealthily inching back toward the pillar, touched the call bell. It happened at the very instant the young lady leaped back. In an instant—clattering clattering clattering clattering, thud, boom! With a ground-shaking rumble, the bronze statue behind her toppled over. A cloud of sand and dust billowed up densely. Had she noticed even a second later, her body would have been crushed to dust, and her brain matter would have scattered.

“Ugh, what are you doing?!” “You bastard!”

“You damned lucky cat!”

And in that instant, the Count’s countenance changed completely.

“You damned whore! How dare you interfere with my work like this! Did you think I didn’t know you’re Ingrid Ines?! How dare you frame my wife! I won’t forget this grudge!”

However, with pistols pointed at him from both sides and his hands raised, the Count’s words grew increasingly disordered. “You government dogs have your sights set on the wrong target!” “Behind me stands the Conservative Party leader Amundasen himself!” “The Danish Royal Family backs me!” “Keep up this farce and I’ll have your heads!” “Insolent… vermin…” “Strange! “My tongue… won’t move right.”

“He drank poison just now.” “He drank poison?” “Hey, then get a doctor here, quick!” “A doctor! Now!”

“Leave him be! That’s safer—there’s no need to call a doctor, I tell you.”

“You bastards, listen well! The true villain... is Philip... Sven... Philip...” As the poison must have finally taken full effect, his raised hands trembled violently while intense agony twisted across his face. By now, his consciousness had grown thoroughly clouded.

“The true villain… is Philip.” “What royal brother? That’s bullshit!” “By rights... h-... 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 misconduct… I’ll never forget this grudge… This hatred I shall carry for eternity…”

There was no longer any need to keep the pistols pointed. As soon as one person lowered their pistol, the Count clawed frantically at his throat with both hands. The necktie tore, the shirt button flew off, and now even those hands were feebly waving through the air.

“Ugh… It’s painful… Let me drink… W-water… give me water…” As he staggered two or three steps—perhaps deeming this no sight for a woman’s eyes—someone moved to block the young lady’s view. “Th…the real villain…is Handel…the King…All of you…made me…an outcast…”

With that final act, he stared wide-eyed and arched backward. As the person before her stepped aside, what met the young lady's eyes—! There lay a pale hand splayed palm-up... a pallid forehead... features still twisted in that dreadful grimace—the Count's breath had stopped. Someone could be seen unfolding a lap blanket from the table to drape over the corpse. "Did he take atropine? "It seems absurdly fast, but... cocaine?"

“Though it may seem cruel, this outcome is likely more merciful for the Count.”

At that moment, someone shouted loudly, "Oh! A fake beard!" "The beard! The beard's coming off, I tell you!" The unparalleled master of disguise had maintained his transformation until the final instant of his life.

His Late Majesty the King’s bedside

They had not called a doctor, but leaving the corpse unattended was out of the question. After contacting the Board of Auditors by telephone and as mortuary workers were loading the body into the hearse, an exhaustive search of the residence began. With two senior servants assisting them, they combed through every floor and basement in a painstaking investigation lasting nearly two hours. What ultimately left them awestruck was the Count's meticulously prepared network of mechanisms. The wall in the second-floor bedroom had been engineered to revolve; descending through its pitch-dark staircase brought one to the basement. Beside the coal storage room ran a passage leading back upstairs, while removing the thick iron plate from within the ground-floor parlor's fireplace revealed yet another secret route—a stone tunnel beneath the sprawling grounds provided an unexpected thoroughfare all the way to a distant rear gate. Ascending the slope adjacent to this gate inexplicably led to a stone-reinforced passage emerging at the corner of the flower garden in the main building's inner courtyard. When had these been constructed? By whose orders? The entire mansion had transformed into an endlessly bewildering maze that defied comprehension.

He must have packed all the stolen goods into suitcases intending to flee, but as expected, all that emerged were evidentiary items—everything except the precious metals. Likely used for disguises were long sideburns extending to the jawline; a chartreuse dragoon captain’s military uniform identical to His Highness Prince Philip’s; a sash; boots; a sword; and a women’s corset—though its measurements differed from the Countess’s. Similarly found were garments befitting a sixty-year-old woman—hardly intended for the Countess—alongside numerous pairs of women’s shoes!

Amidst every conceivable kind of miscellaneous disguise tool, they had finally surfaced. A middle schooler’s short jacket, long Western-style trousers, and matching shoes—likely used when impersonating young Johannes at the Dragen Ducal Residence—… Though the Countess was twenty-four years old, when brand-new garments that seemed intended for someone aged nineteen or twenty appeared, the group involuntarily let out a cheer. For it had brought to mind several difficult cases—those of the Hemmel family, the Wessel family, and others—that remained unsolved to this day. And finally, they managed to destroy the sturdy lock of the underground secret room—a room that even the servants had been unable to approach, likely used as a workshop for dismantling stolen necklaces and bracelets.

As expected, it resembled a blacksmith’s forge at first glance—or a watchmaker’s workshop—with countless metalworking tools, bellows, small electric furnaces, and more. Behind the Countess’s parlor dressing table stood a hidden safe embedded in the wall, identical to those of the Dragen Ducal Family. Yet even when they searched this concealed safe—and another hidden behind the bookshelves in the Count’s study—not a single gemstone or precious metal remained. Amidst that overwhelming disarray where no hand could intervene, when Ralph "Cobra" pried open the No. 1 large safe downstairs, the group once again gathered around and raised cries of astonishment at the Count’s unrelenting villainy.

“My eyes don’t lie! There’s absolutely no mistake in what I saw!” Given how confidently Cobra had pried it open, it was no wonder he’d struggled! The entire inner wall of this large safe had been hollowed out into a cavity, and what now came clattering out from within was a mountain of white powder... none other than the narcotic heroin hydrochloride. Whether the Count was a habitual user or the Countess an addict, it remained unclear, but the large safe bore five or six shipping labels addressed to Uruguay and Montevideo.

It was conclusively determined that Count Steensen's intended escape destination was Montevideo, cross-referenced with the fact that the Lufthansa flight the Countess was supposed to board from Kemper's Hof Airport had been bound for Montevideo. In any case, with heroin costing 2,000 kroner per ounce, this sheer quantity meant that while the value of the jewels was considerable, the price of these narcotics 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 racin’ against each other.” The Deputy Director stood dumbfounded too, his gaze lingering on the young lady as he remained rooted in place—when suddenly—

“There’s somethin’ here… It says… it says here!… Miss, take a look at this… There’s this thing here!”

Then, from who knows where, the detective produced a letter addressed to the Count. It was densely handwritten. On these margins—or rather, on the back of the paper—the Count had likely used them as memoranda instead; written in pencil were the quantities of dismantled items: March 25th—thirty-two pearls, April 18th—eighteen diamonds and twelve rubies, June 28th—twenty-three diamonds and twenty-two ounces of platinum, and so forth. Could there be a buyer or recipient somewhere? She turned it over and examined both sides, but found no such thing written.

“What magnificent paper!” “Incredible embossing… Oh! Isn’t this the royal crest?” Indeed, within a shield flanked by drapery lay embossed symbols of the current Glücksburg Royal Family’s crest—lions, crowns, swans, phoenixes, and more. No wonder! At the end of two densely filled pages stood the signatures: Sven Philip and His Highness Prince Philip. What could it possibly say? As her eyes skimmed the text, Ingrid felt an inexplicable tightness constrict her chest. Every syllable resonated within her. Though the first half was missing, this appeared to be the latter portion of what had originally spanned four or five sheets.

...It was on October 12th of last year—when We attended the celebration banquet for Mr. Grune Bjørge’s 10th wedding anniversary—that We came to know you had not heeded Our words and still had not abandoned your grand wickedness. We were once suddenly thanked by Mrs. Bjørge for what appeared to be certain measures We had recently taken. Of course, We have no recollection of such matters. But at that moment, We realized once again that you had appeared at the Bjørge residence disguised as Us and approached Madam with some scheme.

We nonchalantly smoothed over the situation at the time, but the suffering We endured then shall forever lie beyond your comprehension. That Our flesh-and-blood brother colluded with Our servants to infiltrate Our retinue and enter the Bjørge residence to plot this heinous act—this truth is known to Us alone. The world, His Majesty My Brother, and My Sister Ingeborg remain unaware that We even have such a brother. If We had shown any suspicious behavior toward Mrs. Bjørge, Our innocence would have been immediately proven. But would that not amount to Us—your elder brother in name—binding and delivering you, Our younger brother? How could We ever do such a thing!

We still cannot forget how sitting in that seat felt like resting upon a bed of nails—how We returned from the Bjørge household that night with a heart yearning to flee. However vast the world may be, in what country could there exist a royal brother presiding over a bed of nails? Moreover, as We have now learned, you have devised even more treacherous schemes against the Dragen Ducal Family—impersonating Us in broad daylight to visit their estate under Our guise, while bringing along a woman whom We cannot recognize as your lawful wife—one you have repeatedly urged to divorce—under the pretense of being Our maid! Are you not now compounding wickedness surpassing even that of the Bjørge residence! We have no more words to speak unto you.

Even were We to recount Our suffering through a thousand or ten thousand words, they would never reach your ears. At most, you would dismiss this as the ramblings of an unmanly brother and laugh scornfully. We too have no desire to repeat such lamentations.

Peder, today marks the death anniversary of His Majesty Our Father. Seven years ago on this very day, His Majesty Our Father was called to rest. On this occasion, it is necessary to have you recall once more the time of His Majesty Our Father’s passing. At a time when His Majesty’s life hung by a thread—not knowing whether it would last the day—His Majesty My Brother, then Crown Prince, had returned, and the court physicians had withdrawn to an adjoining chamber. It was then that He had all others dismissed and summoned Us and you to His bedside. You must remember—taking you by the left hand and Us by the right, He grasped Our hand with His feeble royal hand and earnestly entrusted your future to Us.

Surely, you have not forgotten. His Majesty Our Father, with eyes weakened by illness, had tears in them—did he not? “This aged, decaying body of Mine... I do not begrudge passing on, but only Peder weighs upon My heart as an unresolved matter. When I think of his mother who died so young, I earnestly wished to guide this child along a bright path if nothing else, yet in my lifetime, I could not accomplish even that. When I reflect upon it now, even my request to the late Chamberlain Ludvig Steensen to have Peder recognized as his legitimate son stemmed from my own cowardly nature—I had relegated Peder, the product of my transgression, to obscurity, driven solely by fear of exposure to society. I feel deeply remorseful toward Peder regarding this matter. I feel pity for Peder.

"Hendel will soon take charge of state affairs—I do not wish for him to hear such dark matters. He knows nothing. I wish to entrust him with governance while he remains unaware. Ingeborg, being a woman, must eventually seek a favorable marriage and wed. She too knows nothing; I do not wish for her to know. The only ones who know are Philip and you. What I ask of you—to accomplish what our father could not—is truly an unreasonable request, but I implore you to keep this entrusted solely within your heart and earnestly watch over Peder’s future well-being."

"What you do for Peder, I believe you do for me in death. Think of Father beneath the grass, clasping his hands in prayer to you, and I implore you to handle all matters fittingly for Peder's sake." You too wept, but We also shed tears. Did His Majesty Our Father not pass away—was He not called to rest—on the very next day! Peder, were your great sins to become known, how profoundly would His Majesty Our Father's soul grieve! Today, upon the death anniversary of His Majesty Our Father, We spent the day contemplating His heart and sank into solemn reflection. And for the honor of His Majesty Our Father and His Majesty My Brother—who remains blissfully unaware—We have resolved to grant you one final opportunity for repentance.

We demand of you but one thing... reformation alone, remorse alone! We require solely that you repent your sins and return to the righteous path. Immediately divorce the French woman who seduced you into vice, paralyzed your conscience, and plunged you into such grievous crimes. Cast off extravagance and indolence—liquidate every asset of your estate. Yield up all concealed plunder. Should you adopt these measures and vow amendment henceforth, We shall assume full responsibility for your accumulated sins and offer society apology in your stead. This constitutes the final—the supreme—the singular opportunity We can grant you. By cruel fortune or fate’s design, all suspicion’s gaze now falls upon Us.

Peder, knowing there were those conspiring with you, We secretly dismissed the majority of them to eradicate this wickedness at its root and spare you from collateral consequences. We ordered the remaining household staff to practice ever-increasing austerity since that time, and though aware it wounds Our royal dignity, We imposed extreme frugality to slash expenditures. That We are now denounced by society as a miser and compelled to postpone even Our marriage to Annemarie—this present circumstance must be thoroughly known to you. These funds are what We have amassed to make restitution for your crimes.

These preparations are now at hand. If now any deficiency in surrendering the stolen goods can be supplemented by adding Our funds to those from your sold mansion assets—if We abandon Our station as royal brother and apologize for all sins—then your crimes too may find atonement. This opportunity will not come again—Peder, repent immediately! Repent! We shall bear your yoke.

What We secretly ponder in the dark of night is this: how We ardently hope to visit your mansion, take your hand in Ours, and earnestly urge your repentance. However, today We serve as proxy for His Majesty My Brother, who lies ill—all matters are no longer within Our sole discretion. Moreover, were We to act recklessly, it would only stir idle rumors in the streets and fill newspaper columns, thereby multiplying unwarranted speculations about you. Therefore, We entrust all to this letter. Regard this letter as Us speaking to you.

Your repentance is not merely Our joy alone. The soul of His Majesty Our Father, who worries and frets over you—who loved you most dearly—shall rejoice with delight in heaven. That would be the greatest act of filial piety you could offer His Majesty Your Father.

June 24, 1944

Your brother who ever frets for you, Sven Philip

Sven Philip

Count Bergland Steensen When the letter had been read, a strange commotion—neither quite a groan, nor a lament, nor a cheer—welled up from underground.

“Wh—what a villain this Count is, I tell ya! He’s even done murder! A corpse just came up through the basement floor!” One of the detectives running past shouted this loudly. “An old man’s corpse…?” “Yes, yes—must’ve been over seventy…” The detectives’ eyes widened as if declaring, “You knew all along!”

“The forehead had been split open and buried beneath the floor.”

The space beneath the floor was likely the underground secret room that served as his workshop. They already knew that without being told. The victim was almost certainly that elderly former royal tutor—the one who had entered the mansion four or five days earlier and whose absence Ebbe had reported. Now that they had read His Highness’s letter, everything became clear: this tutor was no mere intermediary. Using old connections to move between His Highness and the Count, he must have been freely leaking His Highness’s movements to conspire with the Count.

When we had met at the club some time ago, his claim about visiting his daughter in Argentina had been an outright lie; he must have instead intended to flee to Montevideo with the Count. Over some dispute about shares or similar matters, he must have clashed with the Count and ultimately been killed by him. Yet compared to that affair, this letter held far greater significance. As she kept gazing at the letter, the young lady remained standing rigidly in place.

The man admired by all Denmark.

This must be what they mean by a letter that bleeds with every word. This must be what they mean when they say even towers of splendor hold tears. His Highness Prince Philip’s blood and tears seeped through every word, his gentle heart’s piercing sorrow clouding her eyes.

And yet this man—who shares blood with His Highness, that gentle prince—calmly overlooked His Highness’s suffering while tallying stolen goods over his brother’s blood and tears! What a monster! A beastly, inhuman wretch! A serpent-like man stripped of all human blood and heart!

And in that moment, the young lady felt that mysterious enigma—which she had been unable to comprehend until today—now dissolve with crystalline clarity. It was that after stealing the necklace from the widow at Dragen Mansion, he had changed into Prince Philip’s military uniform on the second floor and been seen descending by the maid Loviisa. For what purpose had he gone to the trouble of dressing in His Highness’s attire? That had been a long-unresolved mystery, but now the time had finally come to put an end to it as well. While sharing blood with His Highness—a man of such gentle heart—this Count had proven himself human scum, a cold-blooded reptile of a being. To smear all suspicion onto His Highness, he had gone so far as to perform such conspicuous maneuvers. A vile and despicable, worthless wretch of a man! A creature beneath even a beast clad in human skin! That he alone, despite inheriting the late king’s blood, could not become royalty—this was for him an unforgivable resentment, a ceaseless regret, a gnawing envy that lingered through sleepless nights! This must have been the obsessive delusion of a demonic being that formed the root of all evil.

“Yes! Such a man deserves to die! Divine punishment! Swift divine retribution! Serves him right!”

She stood rooted as if about to stamp her feet in frustration, while wave after wave of heat kept surging up inside her. She could no longer endure staying still—not even through restraint.

“Here, put this away… put it away.” As she threw away His Highness’s letter, she dashed out.

“Boss Lady, where you goin’? If you go now, it’s bad news!”

And Cobra came chasing after her.

“Where’s my car? Where is it?” “If it’s a car you need, mine’s right there. Use it! Go ahead and use it!” said Cobra encouragingly.

“Just let me borrow it… Just for a moment…”

Her chest tightened, rendering her unable to speak with this person. She leapt into the car, slammed the accelerator, and raced toward Sægerfos Hill. Her destination was clear—to meet His Highness Prince Philip, who had forsaken the splendor of Merby Palace within Fulstenborg Castle and now dwelled in an unassuming residence near the hill.

Though it could not compare to the opulence of the Count’s mansion, as befitting the residence of His Highness the Prince, it seemed to possess considerable spaciousness for a common house, though modest it may be. The gravel-paved slope inside the gate was quite long, and from the two-story building, red brick chimneys from fireplaces protruded from the roof—as many as three or four of them.

“May I ask where you are going?” “This is His Highness Prince Philip’s residence.”

The moment she leapt into the hall spread with scarlet carpets, someone called out to her from behind. “Your Highness... Your Highness... I must see His Highness immediately—it’s urgent. There is something I must convey...” “I regret to inform you His Highness will not receive any visitors today. There are pressing matters requiring his attention.” “This concerns a special matter requiring His Highness’s immediate audience. Please inform him it relates to Count Steensen.”

“May I ask who you are?” “I am a private detective—”

She fumbled through her pockets. "Ingrid Ines… Please inform His Highness… Please…" "What message shall I convey? I will go and inquire." "Please wait here for a moment." Placing the business card on a tray, the servant ascended the main staircase. As she watched his retreating figure, she found herself utterly defenseless against the rising tide of emotion she could no longer bear. She couldn’t understand why her heart was racing so fiercely, but ever since laying eyes on His Highness’s letter, a tightness had gripped her chest—as if His Highness were planning suicide this very moment. Even waiting here like this filled her with an ominous premonition that she might arrive too late to prevent his death.

She could bear it no longer and finally raced up the stairs. The second floor had a wide corridor branching left and right, and from the second room on the right side emerged the servant who had just delivered her message. When he saw her impolitely charging up, he frowned but said nothing as he opened the adjacent door. “His Highness will see you.” “Please wait here for a moment.” The household staff appeared rather limited in number. The house stood silent and still, the room she’d been led to evidently serving as a reception chamber. Here and there, deep black leather armchairs and sofas filled the space alongside a grand chandelier and heavy drapes—truly splendid royal furnishings throughout—while flames flickered quietly in the fireplace.

And the adjacent room must have been His Highness's study. The soft scratching sound of a pen suggested he was engaged in writing. She stood rigidly, expecting him to enter at any moment, yet even as she waited, the turmoil in her chest refused to subside. Fully aware of the impropriety of intruding upon someone of noble standing, "Please forgive me, Your Highness!" she finally threw open the heavy double doors separating them and burst in. "As time is of the essence, I beg your forgiveness for this abruptness."

The moment she burst in coincided precisely with His Highness rising from the large central desk where he had been writing with his pen. A chartreuse military jacket... His Highness's oblong face, adorned in the standard uniform of a Danish Dragoon Captain—complete with a deep green velvet collar and shoulder epaulettes bearing decorative cords! Eyes as clear and blue as the depths of the ocean... Thick flaxen hair slightly cascaded over a pale forehead!

Truly befitting one of royal bloodline, His Highness stood radiating an air of dignity. While bearing a striking resemblance to Count Steensen in facial features, his nobility was beyond comparison. Despite her rude intrusion, he showed neither surprise nor any particular sign of displeasure. He could only stand still, gazing into her eyes. One hand in an arabesque-patterned velvet sleeve rested over the paper he had been writing on.

“I am Ingrid Ines, a private detective residing on Vogel Street. At the request of the Dragen Ducal Family, I conducted an investigation into Count Steensen and his wife regarding the missing necklace. After confessing to being the true culprit, Count Steensen has just now taken his own life.”

…… His Highness's body appeared to tremble violently. But he remained standing without altering his posture.

“And the Countess was apprehended by National Police officers at Flensburg Station during her attempted flight two days prior and has been returned to the capital.” “As she holds French nationality, I understand arrangements are underway to transfer her custody to the French government in due course.” “……” His Highness gave a faint nod. “All stolen items have been recovered.” “His Excellency the Prime Minister has ordered all matters to be handled with utmost secrecy.” “It was to convey this information directly that I came without awaiting formal announcement…… I beg your forgiveness for this impropriety.”

The deep anguish in his heart seemed ready to pierce through, vividly etched upon his pallid face—yet His Highness did not so much as stir, merely nodding deeply once or twice. And for the first time, he tilted his well-shaped head and stared fixedly at the fireplace flames, but then threw the unfinished letter into the fire.

“Your Highness!” “Once more, I beg your forgiveness for my abruptness.” She hurriedly picked up the note. The fire had not yet reached the paper.

"I anticipated this situation, which is why I rushed up without waiting for an announcement. There is no longer any need for such things." She opened the paper toward His Highness. Though she balked at letting her eyes scan the private correspondence of nobility, such reservations were no longer sustainable. What immediately caught her eye were the first lines... "...At this juncture, there remains nothing to say."

Peder, redeem this disgrace through death! For the royal family's honor, behold your brother who has betrayed our father's sacred trust and now atones through death. You shall commit suicide without delay to expiate your crimes...

“It was precisely because I anticipated such a situation that I rushed here.” “There is no longer any need for such letters whatsoever.” “Please go ahead and burn it now.” and threw it into the fireplace. Instantly catching fire, it blazed up fiercely. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but please put away the pistol.” “For the honor of His Majesty the late king and for the honor of His Majesty the current king as well, Prime Minister Schlegel has also instructed that this matter be handled in strict secrecy.” “Everything has now come to an end.”

Silently, His Highness took out the pistol from his pocket and put it away in the drawer. And finally, he took a seat.

"You introduced yourself as 'Miss Ines,' I believe." "I am deeply grateful for your kindness." "I can only imagine how arduous these long years must have been for you."

"My hardships are but trifling matters. "You must have gone through considerable trouble yourself. "Please have a seat. Now then, I would like to hear the details of the whole matter."

And perhaps intending to summon a servant, he pressed the desk bell. For the first time with lips parted as if for a kiss, the young lady let out a deep, deep sigh. Having pursued the Countess two days prior, she had ultimately been compelled to have police officers handcuff her. She recounted how she had arrived in the capital that morning and gone to the Count’s residence, as well as the circumstances that had finally led to his suicide—though she naturally hesitated to mention how he had attempted to kill her as an opportunistic afterthought.

Gazing at His Highness's noble, dignified youthful face—still pale yet nodding to every word—she couldn't help but think it was no wonder Danish maidens' hearts raced at the sight! She couldn’t help but feel deeply moved. My, how grateful I was! Now that Your Highness’s innocence was proven, and with the money I would soon receive from the ducal family to repay all of Father’s debts—I thought he would surely be delighted. But even as I thought this, it occurred to me that if only Father were still alive, I wouldn’t have to engage in this rough, unpleasant line of work....

“Even if I didn’t have to be in this wretched line of work… What would it matter?”

When I asked, he hesitated for a moment but— “I thought how happy I would be if I could become more ladylike by applying rouge and powder and serve as Your Highness’s dance partner.”

“Had all the customs conspirators been apprehended? And what has the French government done with the Countess?” There were many things he wanted to ask, but forgetting to voice them, he found himself gazing intently at the young lady’s face.

Perhaps there was a flower garden—the scent of freesias wafted in through the open window.