When Prince Carol burned his fingers by dipping them too deep into the British pie, he was given notice that he would have to leave the British Isles. The paternal British government reprimanded the bad prince two or three times then finally grew exasperated when the did not reform and notified him that he would have to leave the country by today.

Yesterday the Prince spent packing his playthings for some more pleasant intrigue in a different country where the parental authority would not be so very stern. He thought of America, but that was very far away and he wanted to be near his cherished Rumanian throne. France was not particularly friendly; neither was republican Germany: Soviet Russia was not at all to his taste. Some small country was more congenial, and he found the very one in Belgium.

The friendly little monarchy was very hospitable. It allowed him the use of an ex royal castle, now a hotel, and promised to interference as long as he observed the law. Meanwhile, he was surrounding himself with secrecy in England. While great trucks were driving off his belongings, no men save those with special permits were allowed with in the gates of Oakhurst Court. The Prince is being mysterious in order to play the game of intrigue better, but the game must grow tiresome when it forces him to move so often