“Speaking of royalty, that is rather an odd condition of affairs in Budavia, by the way,” suggested Nicholas Van Tuyl. “Did you see the paper this morning? The King is very ill. Can’t live a fortnight; and there is a question as to the succession. It seems that the Crown Prince was kidnapped when he was five years old and nothing has ever been heard of him. They don’t know whether he is alive or dead.”
“Oh, how interesting!” exclaimed Mrs. Dickie, putting down her fork to listen. “And to whom does the crown go?”
“To King Frederic’s nephew, Prince Hugo; as thorough a reprobate, they say, as there is in all Europe.”
“Wouldn’t it be funny if the Crown Prince should turn up at this juncture?” suggested Edson; and there was something significant in his tone.
“Has such a possibility been hinted at?” asked Van Tuyl.
“Well—” and Edson hesitated the briefest moment, “one can never tell.” Whether intentionally or not, he gave the impression that he knew more than he cared to divulge. “I had a call today from an officer of the Budavian army. He is a member of the royal household.” He said this with an air, and Frothingham muttered, “Snob!” under his breath.
“I suppose he spoke of the situation, eh?” asked Van Tuyl.
“Yes, of course, he referred to it. I met him last year in Vienna. His call was purely social.”
“Is he to be in Paris long?” asked Mrs. Dickie, quickly. “Bring him to tea next Tuesday.”
But Edson evaded a promise. He was listening to Frothingham, who was saying: