“But you consider it your duty, I suppose, sir?”
“Good Lord, no! What an idea. It’s a woman—it’s always a woman, Battle. I’d do more than be a King for her sake.”
“Quite so, sir.”
“I’ve arranged it so that the Baron and Isaacstein can’t kick. The one wants a King and the other wants oil. They’ll both get what they want, and I’ve got—Oh, Lord, Battle, have you ever been in love?”
“I am much attached to Mrs. Battle, sir.”
“Much attached to Mrs.—Oh, you don’t know what I’m talking about! It’s entirely different!”
“Excuse me, sir, that man of yours is waiting outside the window.”
“Boris? So he is. He’s a wonderful fellow. It’s a mercy that pistol went off in the struggle and killed the lady. Otherwise Boris would have wrung her neck as sure as Fate, and then you would have wanted to hang him. His attachment to the Obolovitch dynasty is remarkable. The queer thing was that as soon as Michael was dead he attached himself to me—and yet he couldn’t possibly have known who I really was.”
“Instinct,” said Battle. “Like a dog.”
“Very awkward instinct I thought it at the time. I was afraid it might give the show away to you. I suppose I’d better see what he wants.”