“The plot thickens,” said Anthony lightly. “No chance of his turning up here, is there? But I suppose he wouldn’t be interested in political Memoirs—only in jewels.”
“There’s no saying,” said Superintendent Battle. “For all we know, he may be here already.”
“Disguised as the second footman? Splendid. You’ll recognize him by his ears and cover yourself with glory.”
“Quite fond of your little joke, aren’t you, Mr. Cade? By the way, what do you think of that curious business at Staines?”
“Staines?” said Anthony. “What’s been happening at Staines?”
“It was in Saturday’s papers. I thought you might have seen about it. Man found by the roadside shot. A foreigner. It was in the papers again to-day, of course.”
“I did see something about it,” said Anthony carelessly. “Not suicide, apparently.”
“No. There was no weapon. As yet the man hasn’t been identified.”
“You seem very interested,” said Anthony, smiling. “No connection with Prince Michael’s death, is there?”
His hand was quite steady. So were his eyes. Was it his fancy that Superintendent Battle was looking at him with peculiar intentness?