He pointed over his shoulder towards the “Brand,” and I understood.  In a moment I was on my way thither, running as I had not done since my college days.  I stumbled over antheaps, and more than once I set my foot in a rabbit hole, but somehow I kept my balance.  As I neared the cottage I slackened my speed and proceeded more stealthily.  I drew close to the window and peered in.  Grooton had been right indeed to fetch me.  The Prince was standing before my desk, with a bundle of papers in his hand.  I threw open the door and entered the room.  Swift though my movement had been, a second’s difficulty with the catch had given the Prince his opportunity.  He was back in his easy chair when I entered, reclining there with half-closed eyes.  He looked up at me with well simulated surprise.

“You are soon back, Mr. Ducaine,” he remarked calmly.  “Did you forget something?”

“I forgot,” I answered, struggling to recover my breath, “to lock up my desk.”

“An admirable precaution,” he admitted, watching as I gathered my papers together, “especially if one has valuables.  It is an exposed spot this, and very lonely.”

“I am curious,” I said, leaning against the table and facing him, “I am curious to know which of my poor possessions can possibly be of interest or value to the Prince of Malors.”

The calm hauteur of his answering stare was excellently done.  I had a glimpse now of the aristocrat.

“You speak in enigmas, young man,” he said.  “Kindly be more explicit.”

“My language can scarcely be more enigmatic than your actions,” I answered.  “I was fool enough to trust you and I left you here alone.  But you were not unobserved, Prince.  My servant, I am thankful to say, is faithful.  It was he who summoned me back.”

“Indeed!” he murmured.

“I might add,” I continued, “that I took the liberty of looking in through the side window there before entering.”

“If it amused you to do so, or to set your servant to spy upon me,” he said, “I see no reason to object.  But your meaning is still unexplained.”

“The onus of explanation,” I declared, “appears to me to rest with you, Prince.  I offered the hospitality of my room, presumably to a gentleman—­not to a person who would seize that opportunity to examine my private papers.”

“You speak with assurance, Mr. Ducaine.”

“The assurance of knowledge,” I answered.  “I saw you at my desk from outside.”

“You should consult an oculist,” he declared.  “I have not left this chair.  My foot is still too painful.”

“You lie well, Prince,” I answered, “but not well enough.”

He looked at me thoughtfully.

“I am endeavouring,” he said, “to accommodate myself to the customs of this wonderful country of yours.  In France one sends one’s seconds.  What do you do here to a man who calls you a liar?”

“We treat him,” I answered hotly, “as the man deserves to be treated who abuses the hospitality of a stranger, and places himself in the position of a common thief.”