Two hours later he stood outside the big railway station that introduces Seabourne to thousands of visitors. He hailed a “taxi.” Five minutes longer saw him inside the “Cassandra.”
“Mr. Lucius,” murmured a gentleman superbly tailored and faultlessly barbed, “suit 17, if you please. Have you then the business with him? But yes? Then I, myself will personally conduct you to him.” He shrugged his perfectly-fitted shoulders with a shrug that betokened much to a receptive mind. “Mr. Lucius—he is indeed a personage—But yes!”
Mr. Bathurst appeared to be in no mood to contradict him. He followed the gentleman upstairs. Mr. Lucius was in! Mr. Lucius was pacing the floor of his room after the manner of an infuriated tiger. It was evident that Mr. Lucius was very much annoyed!
“Ah, Bathurst,” he exclaimed, with a shade of relief in his tone, “so you’re here at last. I am indeed pleased. Sit down. This terrible business is wearing my nerves to pieces. In fact I’m thoroughly unnerved and nearly worried out of my life. Doubtless you’ve seen this morning’s paper?”
Mr. Bathurst had. “Did His Royal Highness allude—” Mr. Lucius’s hand stopped him with a dramatic gesture.
“Please respect my incognito. You have a saying, ‘The walls have the ears.’ Pardon my seeming insistence on the point.”
Anthony murmured what he considered was a dignified apology. Then he completed his unfinished sentence, “Did Mr. Lucius allude to the matter that the Press were calling ‘The Seabourne Murder’?”
Mr. Lucius clapped the palms of his two hands together in uncontrollable emotion. Anthony realised at once that His Royal Highness was certainly in a highly-nervous state and that his previous protestations to that effect had strong foundation. He had been frightened by something and frightened badly. Anthony remembered his parting words at their interview of a week ago. He had threatened to let nothing stand in his way—and at the moment was badly rattled. Anthony decided upon reflection, that it promised to turn out a distinctly interesting case. His host stopped his nervy pacing of the room and plunged himself ill-humouredly into an arm-chair. “I will be very frank,” he commenced. “Although it goes against the grain of my inclination—yet I will tell you all.” He laid his finely-shaped hand upon Anthony’s arm with an imperious movement. “After I left your rooms, Mr. Bathurst, at the end of last week. I drove straight to my hotel ‘The Florizel.’ And although I was very much preoccupied on the journey, nevertheless I was convinced when I reached my destination that I had been followed. By two men! They were hanging about outside your rooms when I left there—and I am positive that they followed me in a small two-seater car to my hotel. However, it is of the smallest importance, perhaps. What I am going to tell you now belongs to what you will call—a different category. ‘Une autre galére.’ By the next morning’s post I received another handwriting of that ‘detestable’—no—from a lady.” He paused to see the effect of his words but Anthony’s face was as inscrutable as ever. “In fact, Mr. Bathurst, from the lady.”
“Really,” murmured Anthony with the suspicion of a smile. “I take it you were extremely surprised?”
“Most assuredly,” replied Mr. Lucius, “I had not heard from the lady for a considerable length of time, as I informed you last week. And if I was surprised to receive the letter, I was still more surprised at the nature of its contents. Unfortunately—in the light of after events—I destroyed it.”
Mr. Bathurst lifted his eye-brows—was His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Clorania always a stickler for veracity, he wondered?
“But I can remember it verbatim—every word, Mr. Bathurst.” The Crown Prince leaned back in his arm-chair, closed his eyes, placed his finger-tips together and proceeded to remember the contents of his letter. “It was as follows,” he announced pompously, “‘Dear Alexis, I am perfectly aware, you will be surprised to know, that you have made two unsuccessful attempts to transfer a certain particular object from my possession to your own. Advices received to-day, that I cannot disregard, tell me that you have sought the professional assistance of Mr. Anthony Bathurst. I happen to know something of that gentleman, you see, as my solicitors are “Merryweather, Linnell and Daventry.” Upon mature reflection therefore, I have decided to discontinue what would be a hopeless struggle. I liked you once, Alexis, very, much. Because of that, and because I’m a silly idiot as well, I’m going to give the photo back to you and burn all the letters. Meet me at the Hotel where we stayed in Seabourne before. I will give it to you there. Will some time next week suit you?’” His Highness turned in his chair. “That, Mr. Bathurst, is reproduced as accurately as I can recall it.” A spirit of uneasiness appeared to take possession of him. “It was signed,” he added in an apparent afterthought and undertone, “by a pet-name that I had used upon previous occasions when addressing her. It would not assist you at all to know it. To cut a long story short, Mr. Bathurst, I came to this Hotel on Tuesday last, met the lady, as she suggested on the following day and as a matter of fact was able to bring the affair that was so important and interesting to me to a highly-satisfactory conclusion. The lady concerned left the Hotel on Wednesday evening—I stayed on.”
His Royal Highness sprang to his feet as he finished his story. His excitement and anxiety had temporarily mastered him. He approached Anthony and his face was white, shaking and uncontrolled. “Mr. Bathurst,” he exclaimed, “when I called upon you a the end of last week you will remember I refused to divulge the name of the lady in the case—I told you that I was a man of honour.” His voice shook with emotion. “Now I feel myself as compelled to reveal
