‘I had received fifty thousand pounds for the first job, of which Rocco had half. Rocco was also to be made a member of a certain famous European order, if things went right. That was what he coveted far more than the money--the vain fellow! For the second job I was offered a hundred thousand. A tolerably large sum. I regret that I have not been able to earn it.’ ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ asked Racksole, horror-struck by this calm confession, in spite of his previous knowledge, ‘that you were offered a hundred thousand pounds to poison Prince Eugen?’ ‘You put it rather crudely,’ said Jules in reply. ‘I prefer to say that I was offered a hundred thousand pounds if Prince Eugen should die within a reasonable time.’ ‘And who were your damnable employers?’ ‘That, honestly, I do not know.’ ‘You know, I suppose, who paid you the first fifty thousand pounds, and who promised you the hundred thousand.’ ‘Well,’ said Jules, ‘I know vaguely. I know that he came via Vienna from--em--Bosnia. My impression was that the affair had some bearing, direct or indirect, on the projected marriage of the King of Bosnia. He is a young monarch, scarcely out of political leading-strings, as it were, and doubtless his Ministers thought that they had better arrange his marriage for him. They tried last year, and failed because the Princess whom they had in mind had cast her sparkling eyes on another Prince. That Prince happened to be Prince Eugen of Posen. The Ministers of the King of Bosnia knew exactly the circumstances of Prince Eugen. They knew that he could not marry without liquidating his debts, and they knew that he could only liquidate his debts through this Jew, Sampson Levi. Unfortunately for me, they ultimately wanted to make too sure of Prince Eugen. They were afraid he might after all arrange his marriage without the aid of Mr Sampson Levi, and so--well, you know the rest.... It is a pity that the poor little innocent King of Bosnia can’t have the Princess of his Ministers’ choice.’ ‘Then you think that the King himself had no part in this abominable crime?’ ‘I think decidedly not.’ ‘I am glad of that,’ said Racksole simply. ‘And now, the name of your immediate employer.’ ‘He was merely an agent. He called himself Sleszak--S-l-e-s-z-a-k. But I imagine that that wasn’t his real name. I don’t know his real name. An old man, he often used to be found at the Hôtel Ritz, Paris.’ ‘Mr Sleszak and I will meet,’ said Racksole. ‘Not in this world,’ said Jules quickly. ‘He is dead. I heard only last night--just before our little tussle.’ There was a silence. ‘It is well,’ said Racksole at length. ‘Prince Eugen lives, despite all plots. After all, justice is done.’ ‘Mr Racksole is here, but he can see no one, Miss.’ The words came from behind the door, and the voice was the commissionaire’s. Racksole started up, and went towards the door. ‘Nonsense,’ was the curt reply, in feminine tones. ‘Move aside instantly.’