bartering your honour, and the great future of your country, for
a blue-eyed jade of an Englishwoman?"

The Prince sat slowly up. His appearance was ominous. His face had
become set as marble; there was a look in his eyes like the flashing of
a light upon black metal. He contemplated his visitor across the lilies.

"A man so near to death, Immelan," he enjoined, "might choose his words
more carefully."

Immelan laughed scornfully.

"I am not to be bullied," he declared. "Your doors with their patent
locks have no fears for me. When you walk abroad, you are followed by
members of your household. When you come to my rooms, they attend you. I
am not a prince, but I, too, have a care for my skin. Three of my secret
service men never let me out of their sight. They are within call at
this moment."

His host smiled.

"This is very interesting," he said, "but you should know me better,
Immelan, than to imagine that mine are the clumsy methods of the dagger
or the bullet. The man whom I will to die--drinks with me."

He pointed a long forefinger at the empty glass. Immelan gazed at it,
and the sweat stood out upon his forehead.

"My God!" he muttered. "There was a queer taste! I thought that it was
aniseed!"

"There was nothing in that glass," the Prince declared, "which the
greatest chemist who ever breathed could detect as poison, yet you will
die, my friend Immelan, without any doubt. Shall I tell you how? Would
you know in what manner the pains will come? No? But, my friend, you
disappoint me! You showed so much courage an hour ago. Listen. Feel for
a swelling just behind--Ah!"

Immelan was already across the room. The Prince touched a bell, the
doors were opened. Ghastly pale, his head swimming, the tortured man
dashed out into the street. The Prince leaned back amongst his cushions,
untied a straw-fastened packet of his long cigarettes, lit one, and
closed his eyes.

CHAPTER XXVI

Nigel was just arriving at Dorminster House when Maggie returned from
her ride. He assisted her to dismount and entered the house with her.

"There is something here I should like to show you, Maggie," he said, as
he drew a dispatch from his pocket. "It was sent round to me half an
hour ago by Chalmers, from the American Embassy."

"It's about Gilbert Jesson!" Maggie exclaimed, holding out her hand for
it.

Nigel nodded.

"There's a note inside, and an enclosure," he said. "You had better read
both."

Maggie open