“Oh, well,” said Anthony, “we all know that. They keep it in the Tower, don’t they? Behind thick plate glass and iron bars, with a lot of gentlemen in fancy dress standing round to see you don’t pinch anything.”
“That’s right,” agreed Jimmy.
“Did Stylptitch say anything else of the same kind? That he knew which city the Wallace Collection was in, for instance?”
Jimmy shook his head.
“H’m!” said Anthony.
He lit another cigarette, and once more began pacing up and down the room.
“You never read the papers, I suppose, you heathen?” he threw out presently.
“Not very often,” said McGrath simply. “They’re not about anything that interests me as a rule.”
“Thank Heaven I’m more civilized. There have been several mentions of Herzoslovakia lately. Hints at a Royalist restoration.”
“Nicholas IV didn’t leave a son,” said Jimmy. “But I don’t suppose for a minute that the Obolovitch dynasty is extinct. There are probably shoals of young ’uns knocking about, cousins and second cousins and third cousins once removed.”
“So that there wouldn’t be any difficulty in finding a King?”
“Not in the least, I should say,” replied Jimmy. “You know, I don’t wonder at their getting tired of Republican institutions. A full-blooded, virile people like that must find it awfully tame to pot at Presidents after being used to Kings. And talking of Kings, that reminds me of something else old Stylptitch let out that night. He said he knew the gang that was after him. They were King Victor’s people, he said.”
“What?” Anthony wheeled round suddenly.
A slow grin widened on McGrath’s face.
“Just a mite excited, aren’t you, Gentleman Joe?” he drawled.
“Don’t be an ass, Jimmy. You’ve just said something rather important.”
He went over to the window and stood there looking out.
“Who is this King Victor, anyway?” demanded Jimmy. “Another Balkan Monarch?”
11
