“In Cimiez somewhere—I think the family has a villa.”
“Twenty-two Avenue Victoria,” piped up one of the Frenchmen. “It is almost impossible to get inside—when one does, it is always the same thing, ‘Please go away—not at ’ome!’”
At that moment Selden’s telephone rang.
“Excuse me,” he said, and picked up the receiver.
“This is Danilo talking,” said the prince’s voice, when assured that he had Selden on the wire. “The king has requested me to speak with you. All day there have been journalists asking—demanding—to see him. Naturally he does not wish to offend them, and he has therefore promised to see them at six o’clock. He very much wishes you also to be present. He will send a car for you.”
“No—I can get over,” said Selden. “I shall be very glad to come.”
“Thank you,” said the prince. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Selden, and glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes after four. “That is all I can tell you fellows now,” he said. “It’s all I know. Perhaps we shall learn something more at six o’clock.”
The men who served evening papers hurried away to get off their stories, hoping to catch the last edition. The others departed more leisurely. Scott remained till the last.
“Look here, old man,” he said, when the door was shut, “what do you really think about this affair?”