There can be only one end to that."
Nigel moved a little uneasily in his place.
"Prince Shan is only an ordinary human being, after all," he protested.
"That is just where you are mistaken," she declared. "Prince Shan is one
of the most extraordinary human beings who ever lived. He is one of the
most farseeing men in the world, and he is absolutely the most
powerful."
"But China," Nigel began--
"His power extends far beyond China," she interrupted, "and there is no
brain in the world to match his to-day."
"If he were a god wielding thunderbolts," Nigel observed, "he could
scarcely do much harm to Maggie here in London."
"There was an artist once," she said reflectively, "who drew a
caricature of Prince Shan and sent it to the principal comic paper in
America. It was such a success that a little time later on he followed
it up with another, which included a line of Prince Shan's ancestors.
Within a month's time the artist was found murdered. Prince Shan was in
China at the time."
"Are you suggesting that the artist was murdered through Prince Shan's
contrivance?"
"Am I a fool?" she answered. "Do you not know that to speak
disrespectfully of the ancestors of a Chinaman is unforgivable? To all
appearances Prince Shan never moved from his wonderful palace in Pekin,
many thousands of miles away. Yet he lifted his little finger and the
man died."
"Isn't this a little melodramatic?" Nigel murmured.
"Melodrama is often nearer the truth than people think," she said.
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