Maimie held her breath. Her only idea had been to observe Mr Steinherz’s treatment of this new suitor, and especially to see whether he really favoured him, as it had struck her he did. But was she unintentionally, and all in a moment, on the point of dispelling the mystery upon which she and Félicia had touched in their confidential talk? She heard Mr Steinherz rise and unlock a table-drawer, then return, apparently with something in his hand.
“Do you seem to know any of those faces?” she heard him ask.
“I don’t think so,” said Usk. “Wait a minute, though. It’s an old photograph of the Emperor of Pannonia, isn’t it?—and his brothers, I suppose?”
“No; his cousins, the Archduke Ferdinand Joachim and—myself.”
From her own sensations, Maimie could imagine the bewilderment on Usk’s face as he gazed blankly at the speaker.
“You don’t see the likeness?” Mr Steinherz went on; “but the folks used often mistake us three for one another. Look right in my face; I just brush my hair back some; I turn up my moustache and hide my beard, showing the Hohenstaufen mouth. Now do you perceive no likeness to the Archduke as you saw him three hours back?”
“I see! I see!” cried Usk. “But,” he added, rising and walking round his host, “from behind you need no alteration at all. If you were in uniform I should take you for him.”
“Is that so?” said Mr Steinherz. “Well, you will excuse me if I resume my usual appearance? I apprehend that if it got around there was a double of the Archduke staying at the Hotel Bloomsbury, it might cause some inconvenience. And now, do you incline to hear the circumstances, or not?”
“There’s nothing I should like better. I don’t know whether I’m standing on my head or my heels.”
Maimie could picture Mr Steinherz’s grim smile. “Did you ever hear of Prince Joseph of Arragon?” he asked.