“May I ask how you knew he was the prince? Of course I don’t doubt Your Highness at all. But may we not know how Mrs. Mearely was able to corroborate...?”
The prince bowed to her affably. “Oh, to be sure. Naturally.” He looked at Rosamond.
“When His Highness first entered I supposed he was a vagabond. It was dark. When His Highness spoke, of course I recognized that he was not a tramp, but a gentleman.”
Mrs. Witherby could not resist a dig.
“I should have known that at once. Naturally, from my station in life.”
“Then—when I served the supper, His Highness went into the dining room for a glass of water. During his absence, Captain Lass-an-a-vatiewicz” (she struggled over the name, but achieved it,) “of the Diplomatic Secret Service of Woodseweedsetisky, came in. He had been watching about here all the evening. Mrs. Witherby saw him looking over the railing.”
Mrs. Witherby sprang up.
“There! There!” she declared, triumphantly. “I told you....” She pointed at Howard.
Constable Marks rebuked her sternly:
“’Ere, ’ere, now! Less hexcitement and more hetiquette before ’Is ’Ighness.”