“But how,” asked Posnovitch, eagerly, “will you get the prince to leave the house alone?”
“I know the man,” answered Posadowski. “I am depending upon his pride and the fact that he will not dare to make a confidant of any one of his new friends.”
“How did you learn where he was going to dine?”
“That was not difficult,” answered Posadowski modestly. “I heard him tell the clerk at his hotel this afternoon to send any cable despatch that came for him this evening to No.—Fifth Avenue. I telegraphed Rukacs, in cipher, to watch the house and to have the carriage ready for us. Svolak—I swore him in this morning—will be on the box alone. There is only one thing now that can defeat our scheme.”
“And that is——?” asked the gigantic Rexanian, eagerly.
“The refusal of the prince to look upon us as friends.”
“He will be suspicious, of course. And we can’t use violence on Fifth Avenue in the early evening.”
Posadowski smiled confidently. Taking a letter from his pocket, he handed it to his companion. It was a short note, addressed to “My Good Friend Posadowski,” signed by the King of Rexania, and expressing the gratitude of the writer for services performed by the recipient.
“It is easily explained,” remarked the arch-conspirator. “My brother, you know, was a loyalist. He did the king many good turns in the days of the revolution. When my brother died, his effects were sent to me; I found this letter among them. The Rexanian officials on the border are sometimes very careless. Of course I have always taken good care of this epistle. I had a feeling that it would be of value to me some time or other. I am inclined to think that the success of our plans to-night rests on the king’s signature.”