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Mere moments after I’d pressed the button, Chase and Odelia walked out of the bulkhead, the structure that covers the main staircase to the roof, followed by two burly men, whom I assumed were part of the hotel’s security team.

Odelia glanced over to us, and I gestured in the direction of the burglar, who was at that moment extending a rope so he could lower himself over the edge.

“Stop!” Chase immediately bellowed, but the man, instead of following instructions, simply jumped into the void!

We all hurried over to see where he’d disappeared to, and I saw he was on the lower balcony, yanking one of the windowed doors to get in.

But Chase was quicker, and without delay jumped down, right on top of the guy, dragging him down to the balcony floor.

For a few moments a violent struggle ensued, the man giving as good as he got, but then inside the room the lights came on, the window was opened, and Barney appeared, accompanied by more of his security people.

“Stop!” the vertically challenged manager bellowed. “Stop this now!”

The burglar knew the gig was up and he finally surrendered.

Barney stepped out onto the balcony, regarded the black-clad figure sternly, balanced on his tippy-toes, reaching out for the man’s mask, and yanked it off.

“Mais non!” the manager gasped, reeling back. “C’est pas possible!”

For it was none other than… Jermaine Durkavic himself!

“Prince Durkavic!” Barney gasped in shock. He swayed back and had to be supported by a member of his team. “Mon cherprince!”

“I want to lodge a formal protest against this ruffian,” said the prince, referring to Chase, who was holding onto him like a clam. “I was just out for an evening stroll when all of a sudden this man jumped me and started beating me up!”

“Cut the crap, buster,” said Chase. “We know you’re the cat burglar who’s been terrorizing this hotel for weeks.”

“I have called the police,” Barney announced, holding up his phone.

“Good!” said the Prince. “I will state my case. Let’s see who they believe: a royal and member of one of Europe’s most prominent families, or a hoodlum!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Chase, escorting the man into the hotel. “Save it for the judge.”

“But,Monsieur Kingsley,” said Barney. “Are you sure?”

“Just look at him,” said Chase. “How many people go out for a stroll on a hotel roof? And check his outfit.” He pointed to the balaclava the man was wearing.

“I have allergies,” said the Prince haughtily. “I have to protect myself every time I leave my room. You don’t want to know how polluted the atmosphere is in these big cities.”

“And what about this?” said Chase, holding up a black backpack the man had been wearing.

“Not that it’s your business, but I’m diabetic. I like to take a sugary snack when I go out.”

“So why is there no snack in your backpack?”

“Because I ate it. You will find the crumbs at the bottom.”

Dooley studied the man intently.“Do you think he’s a Mix, Max? Mx. Prince?”

“I doubt it,” I said. “Though it’s always possible, of course.”

I would have said more, but at that moment Inspector Giblet arrived.

Chase had plunked his suspect down on the bed, where the Prince now sat, looking supercilious and slightly annoyed at being inconvenienced like this.

The moment he caught sight of Inspector Giblet, though, it seemed as if suddenly the wind went out of the Prince’s sails, and he deflated completely.

“Well, well, well,” said Giblet with a grin. “If it isn’t Jacques Cunningham.”

“Who?” asked Barney.

“He calls himself Jacques Cunningham,” the Inspector explained, “though his real name is Gilbert Franck. Gilles for his friends and fellow lowlifes.”

“But… He is Jermaine Durkavic, surely,” said Barney. “Prince of Serbia? Son of the last king of Serbia? He will take his rightful place on the throne one day.”

“Oh, that’s a new one, isn’t it, Gilles?” said the Inspector. “Prince of Serbia, no less.” He turned to the hotel manager. “This man is as much a prince as I am, Barney. So what did he do this time, apart from impersonating a prince?”

“He has been breaking into several of my guests’ rooms,” said Barney, looking totally stunned by this unexpected development.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said Giblet. “Up to his old tricks again. Well, let’s go, Gilles. You know the routine by now.”

“And everything was going so well,” said the thieving ‘prince.’ “Until that stupid policeman started sticking his big fat nose in.”

“He sounds a lot less like a prince already,” Dooley remarked.

“Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?” I said.

“Just a moment,” said Odelia. “We think this man may also be responsible for the murder of Astra Jacobs.”

“Astra Jacobs,hein? But we already have a suspect in custody for that.”

“Yes, but I believe you’ve arrested the wrong person,” said Odelia.

The Inspector frowned.“So how about it, Gilles? Have you added murder to your impressive repertoire?”

“Murder! Me! You must be joking! Murder is not my bag,Inspecteur.”

“He doesn’t have form for murder, that’s true,” said Giblet, rubbing his chin. “Plenty of other nastiness, but murder? No.”