“It is the very thing to excite suspicion—flight
abroad,” she objected.
“Your flight,” he said coolly, “will
be looked upon from a different point of view, for
Reginald Brott must follow you. It will be an
elopement, not a flight from justice.”
“And in case I should decline?” Lucille
asked quietly.
The Prince shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, we have done the best we can for ourselves,”
he said. “Come, I will be frank with you.
There are great interests involved here, and, before
all things, I have had to consider the welfare of our
friends. That is my duty! Emil Sachs by
this time is beyond risk of detection. He has
left behind a letter, in which he confesses that he
has for some time supplemented the profits of his wine-shop
by selling secretly certain deadly poisons of his own
concoctions. Alarmed at reading of the death
of Duson immediately after he had sold a poison which
the symptoms denoted he had fled the country.
That letter is in the hands of the woman who remains
in the wine-shop, and will only be used in case of
necessity. By other means we have dissociated
ourselves from Duson and all connection with him.
I think I could go so far as to say that it would
be impossible to implicate us. Our sole anxiety
now, therefore, is to save you.”
Lucille rose to her feet.
“I shall go at once to my husband,” she
said. “I shall tell him everything.
I shall act on his advice.”
The Prince stood over by the door, and she heard the
key turn.
“You will do nothing of the sort,” he
said quietly. “You are in my power at
last, Lucille. You will do my bidding, or—”
“Or what?”
“I shall myself send for the police and give
you into custody!”
The Prince crossed the hall and entered the morning-room.
Felix was there and Raoul de Brouillac. The
Duchess sat at her writing-table, scribbling a note.
Lady Carey, in a wonderful white serge costume, and
a huge bunch of Neapolitan violets at her bosom, was
lounging in an easy-chair, swinging her foot backwards
and forwards. The Duke, in a very old tweed
coat, but immaculate as to linen and the details of
his toilet, stood a little apart, with a frown upon
his forehead, and exactly that absorbed air which in
the House of Lords usually indicated his intention
to make a speech. The entrance of the Prince,
who carefully closed the door behind him, was an event
for which evidently they were all waiting.
“My good people,” he said blandly, “I
wish you all a very good-morning.”
There was a little murmur of greetings, and before
they had all subsided the Duke spoke.
“Saxe Leinitzer,” he said, “I have
a few questions to ask you.”
The Prince looked across the room at him.
“By all means, Duke,” he said. “But
is the present an opportune time?”
