The emerald of Catherine the Great

by Hilaire Belloc

As the master of the house and his daughter were making that introduction their cup of agony was full.

What made it worse was that McTaggart, being less of a man of the world, as the saying goes, than the rest of the prisoners, was quite openly startled, and instead of looking at Mr. Collop's determined face, his eyes at once fell to the plus-fours, and he said to himself, as his eyes fell lower still, "Thank God, he hasn't put on those brown boots with funny little tabs to them! But really! For a detective...." Then he looked up at the face—and he, of Fleet Street, knew his man.

Lord Galton stared at the Apparition. He could make neither head nor tail of it. He was not of the Horse Pulling, privileged world. Then he remembered that your professional politicians had to herd with all manner of cattle and he shrugged his mental shoulders so violently that his physical shoulders perceptibly heaved. He turned his back upon the company and examined a picture until the nervous strain was over.

Victoria Mosel was vastly pleased. It was as good as the Zoo—and she loved the Zoo. She promised herself an unholy feast and whispered to Marjorie to put her next the Diplomat at dinner. She was not a woman of gesture, or of external expression; but she very nearly clapped her hands for joy. She had seen some funny things in the diplomatic service in the time of her teeth, which were no longer short, but the like of this she had never seen; and she thought, as many a contemporary has thought since Queen Victoria's death, "We're getting on!"

Then she began to speculate within her own clear mind as to how this monster had got into the diplomatic service at all. But she remembered certain odd accidents during the war and other people than he who had suddenly popped up in embassies at the F.O.—quite out of nature; and just as she had all but clapped her hands, so she now all but whistled. However, she in fact did neither. Only she looked upon Mr. Collop with a happy, happy face, and felt that here, at last, was not a wasted day.

The Professor was vastly interested. He said "Bogotar" three times, beamed, nodded, and then for a fourth time he said "Bogotar" lingeringly, as though he loved it, and then whispered again, "Ah, yes, of course. Bogotar." And put his head a little on one side and left it there.

As for Aunt Amelia, her failing eyes did not distinguish the Apparition, but her ears distinguished the accent, and the type of English; and she marvelled feebly that things had changed so much since the days of the Great Lord Salisbury and Peace with Honour. But of one thing she was sure. That if the type of man used for delicate missions abroad might have changed, the policy of Britain was still secure in the hands of whomever the Secretary for Foreign Affairs might choose to entrust with that mighty task; and Bogotar (she imagined) was the capital of Ormuzd and of Ind; barbaric, splendid, and in fee to the British Crown.

"Ah! Shall I show you to your room—eh?" said the Home Secretary courteously, putting an end to what could not be prolonged. "Ah, let me show you to your room."

He went so far as to take the terrible thing by the elbow and actually conduct it out; ... after an interval sufficient, but not too long, McTaggart followed. He would again be alone. He could not bear to remain with the rich longer than he was compelled, and now that there was a detective in the house he would be discovered. Well, let it be so; let the end come soon.

Now there stood, awaiting McTaggart in the hall, that Devil and that Angel who had been off duty for a few hours, and were now back again, fresh and keen, and bickering, as is the wont of such opposed beings of the other world.