eign contingent over to the Abbey this afternoon to discuss State secrets.”
“That will possibly relieve the atmosphere,” agreed Anthony.
“I don’t mind the American so much,” continued Bundle. “He and Father can talk first editions together quite happily in some secluded spot. Mr. Fish”—as the object of their conversation drew near—“I'm planning a peaceful afternoon for you.”
The American bowed.
“That’s too kind of you, Lady Eileen.”
“Mr. Fish,” said Anthony, ‘had quite a peaceful morning.”
Mr. Fish shot a quick glance at him.
“Ah, sir, you observed me, then, in my seclooded retreat? There are moments, sir, when far from the madding crowd is the only motto for a man of quiet tastes.”
Bundle had drifted on, and the American and Anthony were left together. The former dropped his voice a little.
“I opine,” he said, “that there is considerable mystery about this little dust up?”
“Any amount of it,” said Anthony.
“That guy with the bald head was perhaps a family connection?”
“Something of the kind.”
“These Central European nations beat the band,” declared Mr. Fish. “It’s kind of being rumoured around that the deceased gentleman was a Royal Highness. Is that so, do you know?”
“He was staying here as Count Stanislaus,” replied Anthony evasively.
To this Mr. Fish offered no further rejoinder than the somewhat cryptic:
“Oh! boy.”
After which he relapsed into silence for some moments.
“This police captain of yours,” he observed at last, “Battle, or whatever his name is, is he the goods all right?”
“Scotland Yard thinks so,” replied Anthony dryly.
“He seems kind of hide-bound to me,” remarked Mr. Fish. “No hustle to him. This big idea of his, letting no one leave the house, what is there to it?”
He darted a very sharp look at Anthony as he spoke.
“Everyone’s got to attend the inquest to-morrow morning, you see.”
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