“The Prince is, I believe, right,” he remarked. “It is for that reason, doubtless, that I have heard of men whose lives have been threatened, who have deposited in safe places a sealed statement of the danger in which they find themselves, with an account of its source, so that if they should come to an end in any way mysterious there may be evidence against their murderers.”
“A very reasonable and judicious precaution,” the Prince remarked with glittering eyes. “Only if the poison was indeed of such a nature that it was not possible to trace it nothing worse than suspicion could ever be the lot of any one.”
Mr. Sabin helped himself carefully to salad, and resumed the discussion with his next course.
“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But you must remember that suspicion is of itself a grievous embarrassment. No man likes to feel that he is being suspected of murder. By the bye, is it known whom the unfortunate person was?”
“The servant of a French nobleman who is staying in the hotel,” Mr. Brott remarked. “I heard as much as that.”
Mr. Sabin smiled. Lady Carey glanced at him meaningly.
“You have worried the Prince quite sufficiently,” she whispered. “Change the subject.”
Mr. Sabin bowed.
“You are very considerate—to the Prince,” he said.
“It is perhaps for your sake,” she answered. “And as for the Prince—well, you know, or you should know, for how much he counts with me.”