The Queen's Messenger paused and surveyed the faces of those about him in some embarrassment.
“But the worst of it is,” he added, “that the story must have got about; for, while the Princess obtained nothing from me but a cigar-case and five excellent cigars, a few weeks after the coronation the Czar sent me a gold cigar-case with his monogram in diamonds. And I don't know yet whether that was a coincidence, or whether the Czar wanted me to know that he knew that I had been carrying the Czarina's diamonds in my pig-skin cigar-case. What do you fellows think?”
III
Sir Andrew rose, with disapproval written in every lineament.
“I thought your story would bear upon the murder,” he said. “Had I imagined it would have nothing whatsoever to do with it, I would not have remained.” He pushed back his chair and bowed, stiffly. “I wish you good night,” he said.
There was a chorus of remonstrance, and, under cover of this and the Baronet's answering protests, a servant, for the second time, slipped a piece of paper into the hand of the gentleman with the pearl stud. He read the lines written upon it and tore it into tiny fragments.
The youngest member, who had remained an interested but silent listener to the tale of the Queen's Messenger, raised his hand, commandingly.
“Sir Andrew,” he cried, “in justice to Lord Arthur Chetney, I must ask you to be seated. He has been accused in our hearing of a most serious crime, and I insist that you remain until you have heard me clear his character.”
“You!” cried the Baronet.