"
Karschoff nodded.
"I gathered so from Naida," he admitted. "Prince Shan, though, is the
pivot upon which the whole thing turns. You have heard nothing final
from him?"
"Nothing! Tell me, was any one arrested at the Albert Hall?"
"No one. The murdered man, as I suppose you have heard, was Sen Lu, one
of the Prince's secretaries."
"The whole thing seems strange," Nigel remarked. "Do you suppose Prince
Shan knew that an attempt upon his life was likely to-night?"
Karschoff shook his head doubtfully.
"It is difficult to say. These Orientals contrive to surround themselves
with such an atmosphere of mystery. But from what I know of Prince
Shan," he went on, "I do not think that he is one to shirk danger--even
from the assassin's dagger."
A milk cart drew up with a clatter outside. There was the sound of the
area gate being opened. Karschoff put on his hat. He looked Nigel in the
face.
"Maggie," he began--
Nigel nodded understandingly as he threw open the front door.
"I'll tell you about it to-morrow," he promised, "or rather later on
to-day. She's a little overwrought. Otherwise--there's nothing."
Karschoff turned away with a sigh of relief.
"I am glad," he said. "Prince Shan is the soul of honour according to
his own standard, but these Orientals--one never knows. I am glad,
Nigel."
CHAPTER XXIII
In his spacious reception room, with its blue walls, the high vases of
flowers, the faint odour of incense, its indefinable ascetic charm,
Prince Shan sat in his high-backed chair whilst Li Wen, his trusted
secretary talked.
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