“It wasn’t the Comrades of the Red Hand, sir, if you’re thinking of them.”
“But the paper—with the scarlet hand on it?”
“Put there to suggest the obvious solution.”
George’s dignity was a little ruffled.
“Really, Battle, I don’t see how you can be so sure of that.”
“Bless you, Mr. Lomax, we know all about the Comrades of the Red Hand. We’ve had our eye on them ever since Prince Michael landed in England. That sort of thing is the elementary work of the department. They’d never be allowed to get within a mile of him.”
“I agree with Superintendent Battle,” said Isaacstein. “We must look elsewhere.”
“You see, sir,” said Battle, encouraged by his support, “we do know a little about the case. If we don’t know who gains by his death, we do know who loses by it.”
“Meaning?” said Isaacstein.
His black eyes were bent upon the detective. More than ever, he reminded Battle of a hooded cobra.
“You and Mr. Lomax, not to mention the Loyalist party of Herzoslovakia. If you’ll pardon the expression, sir, you’re in the soup.”
“Really, Battle,” interposed George, shocked to the core.
“Go on, Battle,” said Isaacstein. “In the soup describes the situation very accurately. You’re an intelligent man.”
“You’ve got to have a king. You’ve lost your king—like that!” He snapped his large fingers. “You’ve got to find another in a hurry, and that’s not an easy job. No, I don’t want to know the details of your scheme, the bare outline is enough for me, but, I take it, it’s a big deal?”
Isaacstein bent his head slowly.
“It’s a very big deal.”
“That brings me to my second question. Who is the next heir to the throne of Herzoslovakia?”
Isaacstein looked across at Lomax. The latter answered the question, with a certain reluctance, and a good deal of hesitation:
“That would be—I should say—yes, in all probability Prince Nicholas would be the next heir.”
“Ah!” said Battle. “And who is Prince Nicholas?”
“A first cousin of Prince Michael’s.”
“Ah!” said Battle. “I should like to hear all about Prince Nicholas, especially where he is at present.”
“Nothing much is known of him,” said Lomax. “As a young man, he was most peculiar in his ideas, consorted with Socialists and Republicans, and acted in a way highly unbecoming to his position. He was sent down from Oxford, I believe, for some wild escapade. There was a rumour of his death two years later in the Congo, but it was only a rumour. He turned up a few months ago when news of the royalist reaction got about.”
“Indeed?” said Battle. “Where did he turn up?”
“In America.”
“America!”
Battle turned to Isaacstein with one laconic word:
“Oil?”
The financier nodded.
“He represented that if the Herzoslovakians chose a king, they would prefer him to Prince Michael as being more in sympathy with modern enlightened ideas, and he drew attention to his early democratic views and his sympathy with Republican ideals. In return for financial support, he was prepared to grant concessions to a certain group of American financiers.”
Superintendent Battle so far forgot his habitual impassivity as to give vent to a prolonged whistle.
“So that is it,” he muttered. “In the meantime, the Loyalist party supported Prince Michael, and you felt sure you’d come out on top. And then this happens!”
“You surely don’t think—” began George.
“It was a big deal,” said Battle. “Mr. Isaacstein says so. And I should say that what he calls a big deal is a big deal.”
“There are always unscrupulous tools to be got hold of,” said Isaacstein quietly. “For the moment, Wall Street wins. But they’ve not done with me yet. Find out who killed Prince Michael, Superintendent Battle, if you want to do your country a service.”
“One thing strikes me as highly suspicious,” put in George. “Why did the equerry, Captain Andrassy, not come down with the prince yesterday?”
“I’ve inquired into that,” said Battle. “It’s perfectly simple. He stayed in town to make arrangements with a certain lady, on behalf of Prince Michael, for next weekend. The Baron rather frowned on such things, thinking them injudicious at the present stage of affairs, so His Highness had to go about them in a hole and corner manner. He was, if I may say so, inclined to be a rather—er—dissipated young man.”
“I’m afraid so,” said George ponderously. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“There’s one other point we ought to take into account, I think,” said Battle, speaking with a certain amount of hesitation. “King Victor’s supposed to be in England.”
“King Victor?”
Lomax frowned in an effort at recollection.
“Notorious French crook, sir. We’ve had a warning from the Sûreté in Paris.”
“Of course,” said George. “I remember now. Jewel thief, isn’t he? Why, that’s the man—”
He broke off abruptly. Isaacstein, who had been frowning abstractedly at the fireplace, looked up just too late to catch the warning glance telegraphed from Superintendent Battle to the other. But being a man sensitive to vibrations in the atmosphere, he was conscious of a sense of strain.
“You don’t want me any longer, do you, Lomax?” he inquired.
“No, thank you, my dear fellow.”
“Would it upset your plans if I returned to London, Superintendent Battle?”
“I’m afraid so, sir,” said the Superintendent civilly. “You see, if you go, there will be others who’ll want to go also. And that would never do.”
“Quite so.”
The great financier left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Splendid fellow, Isaacstein,” murmured George Lomax perfunctorily.
“Very powerful personality,” agreed Superintendent Battle.
George began to pace up and down again.
“What you say disturbs me greatly,” he began. “King Victor! I thought he was in prison?”
“Came out a few months ago. French police meant to keep on his heels, but he managed to give them the slip straight away. He would too. One of the coolest customers that ever lived. For some reason or other, they believe he’s in England, and have notified us to that effect.”
“But what should he be doing in England?”
“That’s for you to say, sir,” said Battle significantly.
“You mean—? You think—? You know the story, of course—ah, yes, I can see you do. I was
