“Really, Battle, I don’t see how you can be so sure of that.”
“Bless you, Mr. Lomax, we know all about the Comrades of the Red Hand. We’ve had our eye on them ever since Prince Michael landed in England. That sort of thing is the elementary work of the department. They’d never be allowed to get within a mile of him.”
“I agree with Superintendent Battle,” said Isaacstein. “We must look elsewhere.”
“You see, sir,” said Battle, encouraged by his support, “we do know a little about the case. If we don’t know who gains by his death, we do know who loses by it.”
“Meaning?” said Isaacstein.
His black eyes were bent upon the detective. More than ever, he reminded Battle of a hooded cobra.
“You and Mr. Lomax, not to mention the Loyalist party of Herzoslovakia. If you’ll pardon the expression, sir, you’re in the soup.”
“Really, Battle,” interposed George, shocked to the core.
“Go on, Battle,” said Isaacstein. “In the soup describes the situation very accurately. You’re an intelligent man.”
“You’ve got to have a King. You’ve lost your King—like that!” He snapped his large fingers. “You’ve got to find another in a hurry, and that’s not an easy job. No, I don’t want to know the details of your scheme, the bare outline is enough for me, but, I take it, it’s a big deal?”