“A communication?”
“To Hyacinth Robinson.”
“To Hyacinth—” The Princess sprang up; she had turned pale in a moment.
“He has got his ticket; but they didn’t send it through me.”
“Do you mean his orders? He was here last night,” the Princess said.
“A fellow named Schinkel, a German—whom you don’t know, I think, but who was a sort of witness, with me and another, of his undertaking—came to see me this evening. It was through him the summons came, and he put Hyacinth up to it on Sunday night.”
“On Sunday night?” The Princess stared. “Why, he was here yesterday, and he talked of it, and he told me nothing.”
“That was quite right of him, bless him!” Muniment exclaimed.
The Princess closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them again Muniment had risen and was standing before her. “What do they want him to do?” she asked.
“I am like Hyacinth; I think I had better not tell you—at least till it’s over.”