“Where is the prince?” asked Selden.
“He can’t come until later—he just telephoned us not to wait for him—he has to sign some papers of some sort. Three would be deadly, and madame suggested that I ask you.”
Selden’s heart was beating like a drum. It was the Rubicon.
“Where is the dinner?” he asked, in a voice muffled by emotion.
“In madame’s apartment, here in the hotel—third floor. Will you come?”
“Please come, M. Selden!” said madame’s voice softly.
It was all over—he took the plunge.
“Of course I will come,” he said. “Thank madame for me.”
“Oh, you can thank her yourself,” said Davis, with a chuckle. “We will give you fifteen minutes.”
“All right,” Selden agreed, and placed the receiver back on its rack.