“There are always unscrupulous tools to be got hold of,” said Isaacstein quietly. “For the moment, Wall Street wins. But they’ve not done with me yet. Find out who killed Prince Michael, Superintendent Battle, if you want to do your country a service.”
“One thing strikes me as highly suspicious,” put in George. “Why did the equerry, Captain Andrassy, not come down with the Prince yesterday?”
“I’ve inquired into that,” said Battle. “It’s perfectly simple. He stayed in town to make arrangements with a certain lady, on behalf of Prince Michael, for next week-end. The Baron rather frowned on such things, thinking them injudicious at the present stage of affairs, so His Highness had to go about them in a hole and corner manner. He was, if I may say so, inclined to be a rather—er—dissipated young man.”
“I’m afraid so,” said George ponderously. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“There’s one other point we ought to take into account, I think,” said Battle, speaking with a certain amount of hesitation. “King Victor’s supposed to be in England.”
“King Victor?”
Lomax frowned in an effort at recollection.
“Notorious French crook, sir. We’ve had a warning from the Sûreté in Paris.”
“Of course,” said George. “I remember now. Jewel thief, isn’t he? Why, that’s the man——”
He broke off abruptly. Isaacstein, who had been frowning abstractedly at the fireplace, looked up just too late to catch the warning glance telegraphed from Superintendent Battle to the other. But being a man sensitive to vibrations in the atmosphere, he was conscious of a sense of strain.