Anthony waved aside the very direct compliment. “Really, Your—Mr. Lucius, rather, I am not at all sure that my engagements will allow me to do what you wish. As I pointed out to you previously, I am not a professional inquiry-agent.”
The Crown Prince extended what was almost a suppliant hand. “But you took those letters of mine—you were going to investigate the secret that lay behind the writing of them—and I am sure that the affairs are connected. I would esteem it as the very greatest of favours if you—”
“What makes you so positive of the connection between the two things?” demanded Anthony, with strong curiosity.
Mr. Lucius shrugged his shoulders even more eloquently than before. Then he placed his two fingers upon where he imagined his heart to be, “I feel it here,” he explained—it was an un-English gesture, and to Mr. Bathurst, was far from satisfying.
“The whole affair is puzzling,” declared the latter, “but one feature of it puzzles me very considerably. At the moment, that is. You have just informed me that Miss Carruthers has been staying here at the ‘Cassandra.’ That is so, isn’t it?”
“Why—yes. As I told you just now she wrote to me—it was her idea—asking me to meet her here—at the ‘Cassandra’! What is it exactly that mystifies you?”
“Simply this,” exclaimed Anthony, “the Press report that I read at breakfast this morning stated that Miss Carruthers was a guest at the ‘Lauderdale’ Hotel—certainly no mention was made of the ‘Cassandra.’”
The Crown Prince looked startled out of his skin. “What!” he exclaimed, “the ‘Lauderdale’? It is impossible. You must be mistaken. That was not reported in my paper. How can it be? What paper was it—surely you must be mistaken?”
Anthony demurred very quietly but firmly. “You will find I am not. It was the ‘Morning Message’—send for one and see for yourself.”
His Royal Highness touched the bell. “A copy of the morning’s ‘Message,’” he said to the attendant, “as quickly as possible. I cannot believe it,” he muttered, as he paced the apartment after a minute’s silence. “The ‘Lauderdale’—it is incredible that—thank you.” He broke off and opened the newspaper that had been brought to him. “I ask your pardon, Mr. Bathurst, for seeming to doubt you—you are quite correct—the report says ‘a visitor to Seabourne, staying at the ‘Lauderdale’ Hotel. It is inexplicable—it must be a mis-print—or at any rate false information.”
“I doubt it being that,” ventured Anthony, “the London Press is pretty accurate as a rule upon details of that nature. In murder cases especially. After all we may be puzzling our brains needlessly—the explanation of the tangle may be perfectly simple when we hit upon it. Miss Carruthers may have had a second assignation. She may have intended to stay in Seabourne longer that you thought. She may have simply moved her quarters from the ‘Cassandra’ to the ‘Lauderdale’ intentionally.”
“Never,” cried His Royal Highness Alexis of Clorania, “never.” He brought down one of his palms upon the other in the same manner that he had employed before. The suggestion assailed his vanity. “I am quite certain of what I am saying. Miss Carruthers left me, as I informed you, to return to London. She had no assignation in Seabourne beyond her assignation at the ‘Cassandra’ with me.”
This time it was Anthony’s turn to shrug his shoulders. “With all deference—I don’t know how you can be so certain on the point. May I remind you of your own words, ‘Can a man ever believe a woman with whom he has been in love?’”
The Crown Prince winced slightly at the aptness of Mr. Bathurst’s reply. Then the wince gave place to a frown which in its turn was superseded by a distinct tendency to sullenness. “I know Miss Carruthers left me to go back to London. This tooth-ache or neuralgia or whatever it was must have come on suddenly and perhaps caused her to alter her plans very quickly. That is the only explanation I can offer at the moment.”
“We shall have to wait,” supplemented Anthony, “until we get more reliable information—that is all we can do. But the two facts certainly do not tally—they contradict each other rather—you must see that.”
“The ‘Morning Message’ has its facts wrong—that is the explanation,” said the Crown Prince pettishly, “it’s the only explanation that there can possibly be—their reporter has confused the two hotels.” He was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the telephone on the table in the corner. He walked to it—obviously angered at what he considered an interruption that need not have happened. “Yes—yes,” he said irritably as he picked up the receiver. “Yes, it’s Mr. Lucius speaking. Who is it… a trunk call… all right… yes… yes… Lucius speaking… I can’t hear properly… you’re very indistinct… speak up… what… you…”
Anthony watched him curiously as he listened, his face white as death. Suddenly he gave a quick gasp, took the receiver from his ear and covered the mouthpiece with his disengaged hand… “Mr. Bathurst,” he said tremulously, turning to Anthony. “What on earth is the real meaning of all this ghastly business?… I’m speaking to Daphne Carruthers.”
Chapter VII
Gentlemen and Players
“I suppose there can be no doubt about it,” ventured Anthony; “you recognised the lady’s voice?”
“Of course,” retorted the Crown Prince, somewhat testily—still showing signs of the shock to which he
