“I have come to ask you to visit the Prime Minister before you leave England,” Nigel announced.

Prince Shan changed his position slightly.  His forehead was a little wrinkled.  He was silent for a moment.

“If I pay more than a farewell visit of ceremony,” he said, “that is to say, if I speak with Mr. Mervin Brown on things that count, I must anticipate a certain decision at which I have not yet wholly arrived.”

Nigel had a sudden inspiration.

“You are seeking to bribe Maggie!” he exclaimed.

“That is not true,” was the dignified reply.

“Then please explain,” Nigel persisted.

Prince Shan rose to his feet.  He walked to the heavy silk curtains which led into his own bedchamber, pushed them apart, and looked for a moment at the familiar objects in the room.  Then he came back, glancing on his way at the ebony cabinet.

“One does not repeat one’s mistakes,” he said slowly, “and although you and I, Lord Dorminster, breathe the common air of the greater world, my instinct tells me that of certain things which have passed between your cousin and myself it is better that no mention ever be made.  I wish to tell you this, however.  There is in existence a document, my signature to which would, without a doubt, have a serious influence upon the destinies of this country.  That document, unsigned, would be one of my marriage gifts to Lady Maggie—­and as you know I have not yet had her answer.  However, if you wish it, I will go to the Prime Minister.”

Li Wen came silently in.  He spoke to his master for a few minutes in Chinese.  A faint smile parted the latter’s lips.

“You can tell the person at the telephone that I will call within the next few minutes,” he directed.  “You will not object,” he added, turning courteously to Nigel, “if I stop for a moment, on the way to Downing Street, at a small private hospital?  An acquaintance of mine lies sick there and desires urgently to see me.”

“I am entirely at your service,” Nigel assured him.

Prince Shan, with many apologies, left Nigel alone in the car outside a tall, grey house in John Street, and, preceded by the white-capped nurse who had opened the door, climbed the stairs to the first floor of the celebrated nursing home, where, after a moment’s delay, he was shown into a large and airy apartment.  Immelan was in bed, looking very ill indeed.  He was pale, and his china-blue eyes, curiously protruding, were filled with an expression of haunting fear.  A puzzled doctor was standing by the bedside.  A nurse, who was smoothing the bedclothes, glanced around at Prince Shan’s entrance.  The invalid started convulsively, and, clutching the pillows with his right hand, turned towards his visitor.

“So you’ve come!” he exclaimed.  “Stay where yon are!  Don’t go!  Doctor—­nurse—­leave us alone for a moment.”

The nurse went at once.  The doctor hesitated.