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Updated: June 2, 2025
And where? Beside the Singing Fountains in the Place de la Concorde. Ah! my dear friends, what a state he was in! I hardly knew him at first; in fact, I shouldn't have known him at all if I were not such a sharp detective. He had removed his false beard and spectacles. I tell you Frederick-Christian has aged ten years, his clothes were torn and covered with mud, and moreover he was dead drunk!
How my head aches! It feels as though it were made of lead!... I have a fire in my veins and such a thirst! Here and now I make a firm resolution never to give way again to such dissipation. Never again will I drink champagne in such quantities. But, where the deuce am I?... It's still pitch dark!... Ah, I remember ... it's outrageous! Help! Help!" King Frederick-Christian had wakened.
The young man was about to question Frederick-Christian further when the hall door bell rang sharply. Fandor quickly opened the door and let in two policemen. "Is it here the tragedy took place?" "What! You know already?" "The concièrge notified us, Monsieur." Then turning to his companion: "See that no one gets out." "But I've sent for a doctor.... I must go and find one," cried Fandor.
I've already had twenty-four hours of it, and if it goes on much longer I shall begin to think it's not a joke. "And the King himself, what's become of him ... what is Frederick-Christian II doing now ... that's something I'd like to find out." The journalist had indeed sufficient food for thought. From the dawn of New Year's Day he had gone from surprise to surprise.
The director of the Secret Service felt himself entangled in a network of intrigues which seemed impossible to unravel. He seemed to be surrounded by an impenetrable mystery. Fantômas! And now the name of Fantômas was associated with the scandal brought about by Frederick-Christian!
What probably happened was that the King had a fit of nerves, due to the death of his mistress, and then his return to his normal life misled you...." Marie Pascal interrupted: "No, Monsieur, no! Your inspectors are wrong! I who love him cannot be deceived! It is no longer Frederick-Christian II who is at the Royal Palace, it is an impostor!
Had the King taken vengeance upon his mistress in a moment of jealous insanity? No, that was out of the question. In spite of his intoxication, Frederick-Christian seemed to be a man of normal temperament, and of a kindly disposition. His face betrayed none of the characteristics of the drink-maddened.
"Good Lord!... there he is! Frederick-Christian." It was indeed the King a prisoner in the hollow foundations of the Singing Fountains. "Sire, Sire!" The King slept on. But his sleep seemed troubled; he breathed in gasps. "Sire! Sire! Wake up! I have come to save you! Upon my word, that is what might be called a royal sleep."
The King in amaze stood stock still while the young girl looked at him in utter stupefaction, with trembling lips and body shaken by nervous tremors. Then suddenly she turned in terror, screaming: "Help! Help! The impostor! The murderer!... the King is not the King.... Frederick-Christian has disappeared!... Who is this man?" The girl's cries brought the Hotel servants quickly to the scene.
But I could not understand why he had not returned to his hotel. My conclusion was wrong. Frederick-Christian, like myself, came down a flight too many and found himself, as I have, in this cellar. Evidently a scoundrel was waiting for him here. The trampled ground, the shreds of silk torn from a high hat, all indicate clearly the struggle which took place.
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