"What?" he gasped, as soon as he found his breath. "Is not this his Highness Prince Savanoff, the famous general?"
"The famous fiddlestick," returned the other. "He's no more a Highness, and a Prince, and a general than you are yourself. He's a rascally, drunken old bootmaker, who disgraces the name of Petroff."
With the angry woman's shrill laughter ringing in his ears the unhappy jeweller staggered from the room and rushed down the stairs. He could think of nothing but the loss he had just sustained. By reporting the matter to the police at once there was a bare chance that some of the property might yet be recovered.
The superintendent of police, however, to whom he poured out his story, could not offer him much encouragement. It was clear that he had been made the victim of a singularly audacious robbery. The only thing that the authorities could do was to arrest Petroff as an accomplice. As, however, there was no evidence to connect him with the theft, he was, after a week's enforced sobriety, permitted to return to his wife.
This was comforting for Petroff, perhaps, but it was anything but pleasant for the hapless Mr. Gorshine, who never saw his jewels or the two "adjutants" again.
[The Humours of a Rectorial Election.]
By "One of the Electors."