Of the grey hairs which bloomed in the thinning thatch of Chief Inspector Claud Eustace Teal, there were at least a couple of score which he could attribute directly to an equal number of encounters with the Saint. Mr. Teal did not actually go so far as to call them by name and celebrate their birthdays, for he was not by nature a whimsical man; but he had no doubts about their origin.
The affair of the Prince of Cherkessia gave him the forty-first — or it may have been the forty-second.
His Highness arrived in London without any preliminary publicity; but he permitted a number of reporters to interview him at his hotel after his arrival, and the copy which he provided had a sensation value which no self-respecting news editor could ignore.
It started before the assembled pressmen had drunk more than half the champagne which was provided for them in the Prince's suite, which still stands as a record for any reception of that type; and it was started by a cub reporter, no more ignorant than the rest, but more honest about it, who had not been out on that kind of assignment long enough to learn that the serious business of looking for a story is not supposed to mar the general conviviality while there is anything left to drink.
"Where," asked this revolutionary spirit brazenly, with his mouth full of foie gras, "is Cherkessia?"
The Prince raised his Mephistophelian eyebrows.
"You," he replied, with faint contempt, "would probably know it better as Circassia."
At the sound of his answer a silence spread over the room. The name rang bells, even in journalistic heads. The cub gulped down the rest of his sandwich without tasting it; and one reporter was so far moved as to put down a glass which was only half empty.
"It is a small country between the Caucasus Mountains and the Black Sea," said the Prince. "Once it was larger; but it has been eaten away by many invaders. The Turks and the Russians have robbed us piecemeal of most of our lands — although it was the Tatars themselves who gave my country its name, from their word Cherktkess, which means 'robbers.' That ancient insult was long since turned to glory by my ancestor Schamyl, whose name I bear; and in the paltry lands which are still left to me the proud traditions of our race are carried on to this day."
The head of the reporter who had put down his glass was buzzing with vague memories.