Lady Fulkeward gave a little scream and looked round.
“Good gracious, Dr. Dean! How you frightened me!”
The Doctor made an apologetic bow.
“I am very sorry. I forgot you were so sensitive; pray pardon me! As I was saying, two months ago the palace of the Princess Ziska was a deserted barrack. Formerly, so I hear, it used to be the house of some great personage; but it had been allowed to fall into decay, and nobody would rent it, even for the rush of the Cairene season, till it was secured by the Nubian you were speaking of just now—the interesting Nubian with the face like a mummy; he took it and furnished it, and when it was ready Madame la Princesse appeared on the scene and has resided there ever since.”
“I wonder what that Nubian has to do with her?” said Lady Chetwynd Lyle, severely.
“Nothing at all,” replied the Doctor, calmly. “He is the merest servant—the kind of person who is ‘told off’ to attend on the women of a harem.”
“Ah, I see you have been making inquiries concerning the princess, Doctor,” said Lady Fulkeward, with a smile.
“I have.”
“And have you found out anything about her?”
“No; that is, nothing of social importance, except, perhaps, two items—first, that she is not a Russian; secondly, that she has never been married.”