“That,” he said, “can wait. In my country, you know, we do not consider that a guest is properly treated unless he partakes of our hospitality the moment he crosses the threshold. The whiskey and soda water,” he ordered of the butler who appeared at the door. “We will talk of my ailments,” the Prince continued, “in a moment or two. Tell me what you thought of that marvellous restaurant where I saw you the other morning?”
The doctor drew a little breath.
“It was you, then!” he exclaimed.
“But naturally,” the Prince murmured. “I took it for granted that you would recognize me.”
The doctor found some difficulty in proceeding. He was trying to imagine the cousin of an Emperor riding a bicycle along a country road, staggering into his surgery at midnight, covered with dust, inarticulate, pointing only to the wounds beneath his cheap clothes!
“Nothing,” the Prince continued easily, “has impressed me more in your country than the splendor of your restaurants. You see, that side of your life represents something we are altogether ignorant of in Japan.”
“It is a very wonderful place,” the doctor admitted. “We had luncheon, my friend and I, in the grillroom, but we came for a few minutes into the foyer to watch the people from the restaurant.”
The Prince nodded genially.
“By the bye,” he remarked, “it is strange that my very good friend—Mr. Inspector Jacks—should also be a friend of yours.”
“He is scarcely that,” the doctor objected. “I have known him for a very short time.”