What do they want to come over here for, and pick out all the best girls? I'm fed to the teeth with everything.”
“Have you heard about the revolver?” asked Virginia breathlessly, as Bill left them.
“Battle told me. Rather staggering, isn’t it? Isaacstein was in a frightful state yesterday to get away, but I thought it was just nerves. He’s about the one person I'd have pitched upon as being above suspicion. Can you see any motive for his wanting Prince Michael out of the way?”
“It certainly doesn’t fit in,” agreed Virginia thoughtfully.
“Nothing fits in anywhere,” said Anthony discontentedly. “I rather fancied myself as an amateur detective to begin with, and so far all I've done is to clear the character of the French governess at vast trouble and some little expense.”
“Is that what you went to France for?” inquired Virginia.
“Yes, I went to Dinard and had an interview with the Comtesse de Breteuil, awfully pleased with my own cleverness, and fully expecting to be told that no such person as Mademoiselle Brun had ever been heard of. Instead of which I was given to understand that the lady in question had been the mainstay of the household for the last seven years. So, unless the Comtesse is also a crook, that ingenious theory of mine falls to the ground.”
Virginia shook her head.
“Madame de Breteuil is quite above suspicion. I know her quite well, and I fancy I must have come across Mademoiselle at the chateau. I certainly know her face quite well—in that vague way one does know governesses and companions and people one sits opposite to in trains. It’s awful, but I never really look at them properly. Do you?”
“Only if they’re exceptionally beautiful,” admitted Anthony.
“Well, in this case" She broke off. “What’s the matter?”
Anthony was staring at a figure which detached itself from the clump of trees and stood there rigidly at attention. It was the Herzoslovakian, Boris.
“Excuse me,” said Anthony to Virginia, “I must just speak to my dog a minute.”
He went across to where Boris was standing.
“What’s the matter? What do you want?”
“Master,” said Boris, bowing.
174
