You have treated me badly enough.
Spare my life. Call in the doctor here and tell him what to do. He can
find nothing in my system. He is helpless."
The smile upon the Prince's lips became vaguer, his expression more
bland and indeterminate.
"My dear Immelan," he murmured, "you are without doubt delirious.
Compose yourself, I beg."
A light that was almost tragic shone in the man's face. He sat up with a
sudden access of strength.
"For the love of God, don't torture me!" he groaned. "The pains grow
worse, hour by hour. If I die, the whole world shall know by whose
hand."
The expression on Prince Shan's face remained unchanged. In his eyes,
however, there was a little glint of something which seemed almost like
foreknowledge,
"When you die," he pronounced calmly, "it will be by your own hand--not
mine."
For some reason or other, Immelan accepted these measured words of
prophecy as a total reprieve. The relief in his face was almost piteous.
He seized his visitor's hand and would have fawned upon it. Prince Shan
withdrew himself a little farther from the bed.
"Immelan," he said, "during my stay in England I have studied you and
your methods, I have listened to all you have had to say and to propose,
I have weighed the advantages and the disadvantages of the scheme you
have outlined to me, and I only arrived at my decision after the most
serious and unbiassed reflection. Your scheme itself was bold and almost
splendid, but, as you yourself well know at the back of your mind, it
would lay the seeds of a world tumult.
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