I had recalled the name Trebizond during Holgate's talk, and it seemed strange now that this second discovery should fall so coincidently. The face of Mlle. Châteray had taken me back, by a sudden gust of memory, to certain pleasant days in Paris before I was banished to the East End. I had frequented the theatres and the concert-rooms, and I remembered the vivacious singer, a true comédienne, with her pack of tricks and her remarkable individuality. Mlle. Châteray, then, was no other than Yvonne Trebizond, and——
I looked down at the paper and read another sentence, which, ere that illumination, had had no significance, but now was pregnant with it.
"The prince has the full support and sympathy of his sister, Princess Alix."
I rose abruptly. I can keep my own counsel as well as a lawyer's clerk, but I saw no reason in the world for it now. I had left my glass untouched and my cigar unlit in Pye's cabin. I went back forthwith to finish both.
The pair were still seated as if expecting me.
"Patient all right, doctor?" inquired Holgate.
I nodded. "Mr. Pye," I said, "I find my discovery has amplified itself. When I was here it was of small dimensions. Now it has grown to the proportions of a—well, a balloon," I ended.
Both men gazed at me steadily.
"Out with it, man," urged the third officer.
"I have your permission?" I asked the lawyer's clerk, smiling.