“Duson,” Mr. Sabin said, “has taken that short journey instead.  It was rather a liberty, but he left a letter for me fully explaining his motives.  I cannot blame him.”

The Prince stroked his moustache.

“Ah!” he remarked.  “That is a pity.  You may, however, find it politic, even necessary, to join him very shortly.”

Mr. Sabin smiled grimly.

“I shall go when I am ready,” he said, “not before!”

Lucille looked from one to the other with protesting eyebrows.

“Come,” she said, “it is very impolite of you to talk in riddles before my face.  I have been flattering myself, Victor, that you were here to see me.  Do not wound my vanity.”

He whispered something in her ear, and she laughed softly back at him.  The Prince, with the evening paper in his hand, escaped from the box, and found a retired spot where he could read the little paragraph at his leisure.  Lady Carey pretended to be absorbed by the music.

“Has anything happened, Victor?” Lucille whispered.

He hesitated.

“Well, in a sense, yes,” he admitted.  “I appear to have become unpopular with our friend, the Prince.  Duson, who has always been a spy upon my movements, was entrusted with a little sleeping draught for me, which he preferred to take himself.  That is all.”

“Duson is—­”

He nodded.

“He is dead!”

Lucille went very pale.

“This is horrible!” she murmured

“The Prince is a little annoyed, naturally,” Mr. Sabin said.  “It is vexing to have your plans upset in such a manner.”

She shuddered.

“He is hateful!  Victor, I fear that he does not mean to let me leave Dorset House just yet.  I am almost inclined to become, like you, an outcast.  Who knows—­we might go free.  Bloodshed is always avoided as much as possible, and I do not see how else they could strike at me.  Social ostracism is their chief weapon.  But in America that could not hurt us.”

He shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said.  “I am sure that Saxe Leinitzer is not playing the game.  But he is too well served here to make defiance wise.”

“You run the risk yourself,” she protested.

He smiled.

“It is a different matter.  By the bye, we are overheard.”

Lady Carey had forgotten to listen any more to the music.  She was watching them both, a steely light in her eyes, her fingers nervously entwined.  The Prince was still absent.

“Pray do not consider me,” she begged.  “So far as I am concerned, your conversation is of no possible interest.  But I think you had better remember that the Prince is in the corridor just outside.”

“We are much obliged to you,” Mr. Sabin said.  “The Prince may hear every word I have to say about him.  But all the same, I thank you for your warning.”

“I fear that we are very unsociable, Muriel,” Lucille said, “and, after all, I should never have been here but for you.”