"He got away?"
Singleton smiled. "One got away—Carl. Ernst is—extremely safe."
The thought of Lady McIntyre came to Napier, along with the horror of the picture Singleton had evoked; intimates of Kirklamont, donors of Boris and Ivan; Mr. Ernst, in prison waiting for the firing squad; Mr. Carl showing his "nice teeth" in a rictus of terror before turning to take McClintock's knife in his throat.
"There's no call to make a mystery of this little Schwarzenberg affair," Singleton was saying. "The woman is better known in Brussels. Better known still in Cincinnati, Ohio." Singleton smiled. "She has a great reputation in a certain suburb of that semi-German city. The good people of New Bonn are proud of her. She has come on so."
"Come on?"
"Oh, she began to 'come on' from the moment she arrived, twenty years ago, at the age of twelve."
"You don't mean she's thirty-two?"
"Thirty-three, to be exact. She came from a suburb of Berlin with an older sister, to help in the patriarchal family of the Cincinnati uncle and aunt."
"The millionaire uncle?"
Singleton's nod of pleasant indulgence accompanied the more exact information.