“If possible,” said Gorman.
Madame turned on him.
“Possible!” she said. “It is possible to kill a rat. Possible! Is not Konrad a king?”
“Even kings can’t cut people up in that sort of way,” said Gorman, “especially just now when the world is being made safe for democracy. Still if you tell us who the man is we’ll do what we can to him.”
“He is a toad, an ape, a cur-cat with mange, that manager of Emile,” said Madame. “He said to me ‘no, I make no evening gown for Madame.’”
“Wants to be paid, I suppose,” said Gorman. “They sometimes do.”
“Alas, Corinne,” said the king, “and if I give him a cheque the bank will say ‘Prefer it in a drawer.’ They said it last time. Or perhaps it was ‘Refer it to a drawer.’ I do not remember. But that is what the bank will do. Gorman, my friend, it is as the English say all O.K. No, that is what it is not. It is U.P. Well. I have lived. I am a King. There is always poison. I can die. Corinne, farewell.”
The king drew himself up to his full height, some five foot six, and looked determined.
“Don’t talk rot,” said Gorman. “You are not at the end of your tether yet.”
The king maintained his heroic pose for a minute. Then he sat down on a deep chair and sank back among the cushions.