“I’m very much obliged to you, but I don’t go home. I don’t go home till I know this—to what house she has gone. Will you tell me that?”
“To what house?” Hyacinth repeated.
“She has gone with a person whom you know. Madame Grandoni told me that. He’s a Scotch chemist.”
“A Scotch chemist?” Hyacinth stared.
“I saw them myself—an hour, two hours, ago. Listen, listen; I’ll be very clear,” said the Prince, laying his forefinger on the other hand with a pleading emphasis. “He came to that house—this one, where we’ve been, I mean—and stayed there a long time. I was here in the street—I’ve passed my day in the street! They came out together and I watched them—I followed them.”
Hyacinth had listened with wonder and even with suspense; the Prince’s manner gave an air of such importance and such mystery to what he had to relate. But at this he broke out: “This’s not my business—I can’t hear it! I don’t watch, I don’t follow.”
His friend stared in surprise, but then rejoined, more quickly than he had spoken yet: “Do you understand that they went to a house where they conspire, where they prepare horrible acts? How can you like that?”
“How do you know it, sir?” Hyacinth gravely asked.
“It’s Madame Grandoni who has told me.”
“Why then do you question me?”