"Oh, that's in the campaign!" I said. "And what said the Prince?"
"Swore like a private in the line—at least, I took it for swearing, for it was German. And then we ran as hard as we could split to the row, but it was too late. There wasn't any one left. All was over save the shouting."
"Then the Prince is well?" I asked.
"Not a pimple on him, old man," said the efflorescent Lane, "and he's writing like blue blazes in his cabin."
What was he writing? Was that dull-blue eye eloquent of fate? When he should be afoot, what did he at his desk? Even as I pondered this question, a high voice fluted through the corridor and a door opened with a bang. It was Mademoiselle. She dashed across, a flutter of skirts and a flurry of agitation, and disappeared into the apartments occupied by the Prince. Princess Alix stood on the threshold with a disturbed look upon her face.
"She's gone to raise Cain," said Lane, with a grimace.
"We've got enough Cain already," said I, and walked to the window opposite. Dawn was now flowing slowly into the sky, and objects stood out greyly in a grey mist. From the deck a noise broke loudly, and Lane joined us.
"Another attack," said he. "They're bound to have us now."
I said nothing. Barraclough was listening at the farther end, and I think Princess Alix had turned her attention from Mademoiselle. I heard Holgate's voice lifted quite calmly in the racket:
"It's death to two, at all events. So let me know who makes choice. You, Garrison?"