question were King Victor’s men. Taken together, those two remarks are very significant.”
“Good Lord,” ejaculated Superintendent Battle, “I should say they were. Even the murder of Prince Michael wears a different aspect.”
“King Victor has never taken a life,” the Frenchman reminded him.
“Supposing he were surprised when he was searching for the jewel?”
“Is he in England, then?” asked Anthony sharply. “You say that he was released a few months ago. Didn’t you keep track of him?”
A rather rueful smile overspread the French detective’s face.
“We tried to, Monsieur. But he is a devil, that man. He gave us the slip at once—at once. We thought, of course, that he would make straight for England. But no. He went—where do you think?”
“Where?” said Anthony.
He was staring intently at the Frenchman, and absentmindedly his fingers played with a box of matches.
“To America. To the United States.”
“What?”
There was sheer amazement in Anthony’s tone.
“Yes, and what do you think he called himself? What part do you think he played over there? The part of Prince Nicholas of Herzoslovakia.”
The match-box fell from Anthony’s hand, but his amazement was fully equalled by that of Battle.
“Impossible.”
“Not so, my friend. You, too, will get the news in the morning. It has been the most colossal bluff. As you know, Prince Nicholas was rumoured to have died in the Congo years ago. Our friend, King Victor, seizes on that—difficult to prove a death of that kind. He resurrects Prince Nicholas, and plays him to such purpose that he gets away with a tremendous haul of American dollars—all on account of the supposed oil concessions. But by a mere accident, he was unmasked, and had to leave the country hurriedly. This time he did come to England. And that is why I am here. Sooner or later he will come to Chimneys. That is, if he is not already here!”
151
