g this self-betrayal, he erased the grin swiftly, but not so
swiftly that Karslake failed to note it. And the young man, smiling amiably
and respectfully in return, was sensible of a thrill: yet another glimpse
had been given him into the mystery that slept behind that countenance
normally so impenetrable.

But he was studious to show nothing of his own emotion. It was his part to
be merely a mirror, to reflect rather than to feel, to be an instrument
infinitely supple and unfailing, never an independent intelligence. Not
otherwise could he count on holding his place in Victor's favour.

"You were quicker than I hoped."

"I had no trouble, sir," Karslake returned, cheerfully. "Things rather
played into my hands."

Victor dropped into a chair beside the table and lifted the lid of a small
golden casket. Helping himself to one of its store of cigarettes, he made
Karslake free of the remainder with a gracious hand. The secretary
demurred, producing his pocket case.

"If you don't mind, sir ..."

Victor moved a supercilious eyebrow. "Woodbines again?"

"Sorry, sir; I know they're pretty awful and all that, but they were all I
could get in France, and I contracted a taste for them I can't seem to
cure. I remember, while I lay in a hospital, hardly a whole bone in my
body, thanks to the Boche and his flying circus--it was that lot sent me
crashing, you know--the nurses used to tempt me with the finest Turkish;
but somehow I couldn't go them; I'd beg for Woodbines."

Prince Victor dismissed the subject curtly. "I am waiting to hear about
Sofia."

"Not much to tell, sir. There seemed to be a storm of sorts brewing when I
got there. The young woman was at her desk with a face like a thundercloud.
While I was trying to make up my mind what would be my best approach, she
jumped down, flew upstairs and, I gathered, kicked up a holy row. You see,
she'd seen that advertisement of Secretan & Sypher's, and smelt a rat."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing definite, sir: seemed to understand she was the daughter of
Princess Sofia Vassilyevski, only she objected to her father being anybody
but Michael Lanyard."

"Go on."

"After a bit she stampeded downstairs again, with the old girl and that
swine of a Dupont at her heels. I blocked him and gave Sofia a chance to
get outside. The whole establishment boiled out into the street after us,
yelling like fun, but I got the girl into the car ... and here we are."

But Prince Victor