suspicious stranger at village inn. But I can assure you, my dear superintendent, that, whatever I am, I am not the local agent of the Red Hand.”
Superintendent Battle smiled a little. Then he played his last card.
“Would you have any objection to seeing the body?” he shot out suddenly.
“None whatever,” rejoined Anthony.
Battle took a key from his pocket, and preceding Anthony down the corridor, paused at a door and unlocked it. It was one of the smaller drawing-rooms. The body lay on a table covered with a sheet.
Superintendent Battle waited until Anthony was beside him, and then whisked away the sheet suddenly.
An eager light sprang into his eyes at the half-uttered exclamation and the start of surprise which the other gave.
“So you do recognize him, Mr. Cade,” he said, in a voice that he strove to render devoid of triumph.
“I’ve seen him before, yes,” said Anthony, recovering himself. “But not as Prince Michael Obolovitch. He purported to come from Messrs. Balderson and Hodgkins, and he called himself Mr. Holmes.”
93
