“Those people have lied to you,” he said. “They are hoping to carry out a scheme by which certain of your Ministers are to be killed from motives of personal vengeance.”
“How?”
“They have told you a lurid story concerning your husband—that he has been executed. Instead he is in prison at Belgrade for six months. Next week he will be liberated!”
“Alive!” she gasped. “Is Danilo alive? He has never written to me!”
“Because your friends the conspirators have intercepted his letters. The man Vulkovitch was taken away from here directly after lunch, and since then I have been in secret wireless communication with the Minister of Justice in Belgrade, from whom I have discovered the true facts concerning your husband.”
She paused.
“But I must go to Lucerne to-night,” she said, somewhat disinclined to give credit to his story.
“If you go there it will be at your peril. A raid will be made upon the house, and all will be arrested.”
“Are you fooling me, M’sieur Falconer?” she asked, facing him.
“I certainly am not,” he replied. “Keep away from Lucerne, and you will find the whole of the men, who have been posing as your friends and taking your money under false pretences, in the hands of the police.”