The Prince shrugged his shoulders lightly, and helped himself to one of my cigarettes.

“You are very young, Mr. Ducaine,” he said, looking at me thoughtfully.  “You have no doubt your career to make in the world.  So, in a greater sense of the word, have I. I propose, if you will allow me, to be quite frank with you.”

“I have no wish for your confidences, Prince,” I answered.  “They cannot possibly concern or interest me.”

“Do not be too sure of that,” he said.  “Like all young men of your age, you jump too readily at conclusions.  It is very possible that you and I may be of service to one another, and I may add that those who have been of service to the Prince of Malors have seldom had cause to regret it.”

“This conversation,” I interposed, “seems to me to be beside the point.  I have no desire to be of service to you.  My inclinations are rather the other way.”

“The matter may become more clear to you if you will only curb your impatience, my young friend,” the Prince said.  “It is only my ambition to serve my country, to command the gratitude of a nation which to-day regards both me and mine with mingled doubt and suspicion.  I have ambitions, and I should be an easy and generous master to serve.”

“I am honoured with your confidence, Prince, but I still fail to see how these matters concern me,” I said, setting my teeth hard.

“With your permission I will make it quite clear,” he continued.  “For years your War Office has suffered from constant dread of an invasion by France.  The rumour of our great projected manoeuvres in the autumn have inspired your statesmen with an almost paralysing fear.  They see in these merely an excuse for marshalling and equipping an irresistible army within striking distance of your Empire.  Personally I believe that they are entirely mistaken in their estimate of my country’s intentions.  That, however, is beside the mark.  You follow me?”

“Perfectly,” I assured him.  “This is most interesting, although as yet it seems to me equally irrelevant.”

“Your War Office,” the Prince continued, “has established a Secret Council of Defence, whose only task it is to plan the successful resistance to that invasion, if ever it should take place.  You, Mr. Ducaine, are, I believe, practically the secretary of that Council.  You have to elaborate the digests of the meetings, to file schemes for the establishment of fortifications and camps; in a word, the result of these meetings passes through your hands.  I will not beat about the bush, Mr. Ducaine.  You can see that you have something in your keeping which, if passed on to me, would accomplish my whole aim.  The army would be forced to acknowledge my claim upon them; the nation would hear of it.”

“Well,” I asked, “supposing all you say is true?  What then?”

“You are a little obtuse, Mr. Ducaine,” the Prince said softly.  “If twenty thousand pounds would quicken your understanding—­”