De Grost smoked thoughtfully for a few moments.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose there is no getting out of it. Don’t rub it in too thick, though. I mean to have a talk with the boy afterwards, and if I am satisfied with what he says, the money will be all right.”
Courtledge raised his eyebrows.
“You know, of course, that he has a very small income and no expectations?”
“I know that,” Baron de Grost answered. “At the same time, it is hard to forget that he really is a member of the royal house, even though the kingdom is a small one.”
“Not only is the kingdom a small one,” Courtledge remarked, “but there are something like five lives between him and the succession. However, it’s very good-natured of you, Baron, to think of lending him a hand. I’ll let him down as lightly as I can. You know him better than any one; I wonder if you could make an excuse to send him out of the room? I’d rather no one saw me talking to him.”
“Quite easy,” said the Baron. “I’ll manage it.”
The rubber was just finishing as De Grost re-entered the room. He touched the young man, who had been the subject of their conversation, upon the shoulder.
“My wife would like to speak to you for a moment,” he said. “She is in the other room.”
Prince Albert rose to his feet. He was looking very pale, and the ash-tray in front of him was littered with cigarette ends.