Richard Albion stared fixedly.
“Prince Zuvor,” he murmured. “I have heard of Prince Zuvor.”
“You are Prince Zuvor.”
The gray-haired man did not reply. His eyes met those of Lamont Cranston. For a few seconds the two men studied each other intently. Then Albion nodded slowly.
“I am Prince Zuvor,” he admitted. His voice was almost inaudible. “Yet few men know my identity. How you discovered it is a mystery.
“Yet you possess the signet of the Seventh Star. That is a sign which I must acknowledge.”
Reaching in his pocket, Prince Zuvor brought forth a small gold coin. Pressing it between his hands, he made a twisting motion. The coin came apart. Prince Zuvor revealed one portion in the hollow of his hand.
Engraved within the hollowed coin was a seven-pointed star, identical with the device that lay hidden beneath Cranston’s fire opal.
“The Seventh Star,” said Zuvor, looking intently at Cranston, “is an order of the old regime. It belongs to the years before the revolution. But you are so young — “
“My age,” replied Cranston, with a slight smile, “is deceiving. Like you, prince, I have memories of Russia — as it was.”