troubling to undress, he sank down upon his bed into a sleep of exhaustion.
*****
Malcolm Hay had an appointment with Mr. Tremayme on the morning that saw Israel Kensky engaged in frantic letter-writing. It was about Kensky that Tremayne spoke.
"He has arrived in London," he said, "and is staying in Colbury Terrace, Maida Vale. I think you had better see him, because, as I told you, he is a local big-wig and may be very useful to you. Our wells, as you know, are about thirty miles outside Kieff, which is the nearest big town, so you may be seeing him pretty often. Also, by the way, he is our agent. If you have any trouble with Government officials you must see Kensky, who can generally put things square."
"I believe his daughter is with him," Mr. Tremayne went on, "but I know very little about her. Yet another neighbour of yours arrives by special train at midday."
"Another neighbour of mine?" repeated Malcolm with a smile. "And who is that?"
"The Grand Duke Yaroslav. I don't suppose you'll have very much to do with him, but he's the King Pippin in your part of the world."
A clerk came in with a typewritten sheet covered with Russian characters.
