“Very well; I will bring it myself.”
“Say at three o’clock?”
“At three o’clock.”
Freeman rose to go. “One moment,” said the prince. He paused, then went on quietly. “You will recall that two or three weeks ago we considered the desirability of a terroristic plot against General Valenko.”
Freeman smiled cynically. “Whose misfortune it was to stand between you and his fortune. Yes, I remember.”
“We dropped it then because the revolutionists refused to be involved. They will now be burning to avenge the general’s execution of their comrades. Might not this be a good time to take it up again?”
Freeman’s sinister intelligence read what was in the prince’s mind. “With the two children out of the way, why wait years for the general’s natural death to give you possession of his fortune—eh, prince? Besides, if you waited, he might come to suspect your part in to-night’s business and will his fortune elsewhere. You are right—this is the very time.”
“Then you will undertake the matter at once?”
“I will begin on it to-morrow—as soon as Drexel is done for. Prince, allow me to congratulate you. Victory over the revolutionists—two vast fortunes the same as won to-night—a beautiful bride to-morrow—and the Prime Ministership certain to be yours! How the devil must love his favourite child!”
The prince frowned, but his heart leaped at the summary of his success.