"They are on guard below, no doubt. But their eyes are not so keen as yours nor their ears so sharp—and then my imitation of the Prince's voice and manner was very good. I admit I kept my face somewhat in the shadow. They passed me without question."
Pachmann, with sudden intentness, scanned the other's garments.
"Yes, they, at least, are genuine," laughed Crochard. "The Prince was most indignant at having to remove them. My heart bled for him—but there was no other way. Beyond a little tightness across the shoulders, and a little looseness about the waist, they do very well."
"The Prince is a prisoner?" Pachmann asked.
"A hostage—to be released when I give the word. You should warn him to choose his cabs more carefully—never, in a strange city, to take the first that offers!"
"Then," said Pachmann, his face livid, "you have confederates—you are not alone!"
"I have friends," Crochard assented, "who were happy to oblige me by taking charge of the Prince. More than that I did not ask of them."
"You mean," asked Pachmann, almost in a whisper, "that you are alone here?"
"Quite alone, my dear Admiral," Crochard assured him, and smiled pleasantly.
Pachmann regarded the speaker for another moment; then he drew a deep breath, and a little colour crept back into his cheeks.