“That is just where you are mistaken,” she declared.  “Prince Shan is one of the most extraordinary human beings who ever lived.  He is one of the most farseeing men in the world, and he is absolutely the most powerful.”

“But China,” Nigel began—­

“His power extends far beyond China,” she interrupted, “and there is no brain in the world to match his to-day.”

“If he were a god wielding thunderbolts,” Nigel observed, “he could scarcely do much harm to Maggie here in London.”

“There was an artist once,” she said reflectively, “who drew a caricature of Prince Shan and sent it to the principal comic paper in America.  It was such a success that a little time later on he followed it up with another, which included a line of Prince Shan’s ancestors.  Within a month’s time the artist was found murdered.  Prince Shan was in China at the time.”

“Are you suggesting that the artist was murdered through Prince Shan’s contrivance?”

“Am I a fool?” she answered.  “Do you not know that to speak disrespectfully of the ancestors of a Chinaman is unforgivable?  To all appearances Prince Shan never moved from his wonderful palace in Pekin, many thousands of miles away.  Yet he lifted his little finger and the man died.”

“Isn’t this a little melodramatic?” Nigel murmured.

“Melodrama is often nearer the truth than people think,” she said.  “Shall I give you another instance?  I know of several.”

“One more, then.”

“Prince Shan was in Paris two years ago, incognito,” she continued.  “There was at the time a small but very fashionable restaurant in the Bois, close to the Pre Catelan.  He presented himself one night there for dinner, accompanied, I believe, by La Belle Nita, the Chinese dancer who is in London to-day.  As you know, there is little in Prince Shan’s appearance to denote the Oriental, but for some reason or other the proprietor refused him a table.  Prince Shan made no scene.  He left and went elsewhere.  Three nights later, the cafe was burnt to the ground, and the proprietor was ruined.”

“Anything else?” Nigel asked.

“Only one thing more,” she replied.  “I have known him slightly for years.  In Asia he ranks to all men as little less than a god.  His palaces are filled with priceless treasures.  He has the finest collection of jewels in the world.  His wealth is simply inexhaustible.  His appearance you appreciate.  Yet I have never seen him look at a woman as he looked at your cousin the first time he met her.  I was at the Ritz with my father, and I watched.  I know you think that I am being foolish.  I am not.  I am a person with a very great deal of common sense, and I tell you that Prince Shan has never desired a thing in life to which he has not helped himself.  Maggie is a clever child, but she cannot toss knives with a conjuror.”

Nigel was impressed and a little worried.

“It seems absurd to think that anything could happen to Maggie here in London,” he said, “after—­”