“Mistake and murder are both spelt with an M,” I said recklessly. “But a murdered Englishman is not by any means easy to explain away.”
A long tense silence followed. He broke it by asking abruptly, seeking to catch me unawares:
“What’s this I hear about your love for the Princess Christina?”
“How on earth can I know what your spies or my enemies tell you?” I replied, not for a moment off my guard.
“Do you dream of making her your wife?”
“Hasn’t she promised to marry the Duke Sergius?”
“Is it true that you love her?”
“If it were you are scarcely the man to whom I should bring such a confidence.”
“What’s your object here in Sofia?”
“To be allowed to mind my own business.”