"Your Highness will pardon me," explained Glück, quickly, "but there is a man here who insists that Your Highness will see him."
"Who is he?"
"This is his card, Your Highness," and Glück entered the room. "I have sent it back once, saying that Your Highness was not to be disturbed. He returned it, insisting—"
Markeld took the card, glanced at it, and read:
"M. André Tellier, Paris. Agent du Service de Sûreté"
Beneath this was a pencilled line—"Concerning the question of the succession."
The Prince stared at it a moment in some astonishment, not unmixed with irritation. What could this fellow know concerning the succession? It was most probably simply an impertinence. The Paris police were famous for impertinences.
Glück started for the door; since his master's boyhood, he had watched over him, attended him—he could read his countenance like an open book. The Prince glanced up.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"I go to tell the imbecile that Your Highness will not see him," responded Glück, impassively, his hand on the knob.