“It is just possible that it might have fluttered out of M. Isaacstein’s suit-case. Question Boris again.” He handed the paper back to Anthony. After a minute or two he said: “What exactly do you know of this man Boris?” Anthony shrugged his shoulders. “I understood he was the late Prince Michael’s trusted servant.” “It may be so, but make it your business to find out. Ask some one who knows, such as the Baron Lolopretjzyl. Perhaps this man was engaged but a few weeks ago. For myself, I have believed him honest. But who knows? King Victor is quite capable of making himself into a trusted servant at a moment’s notice.” “Do you really think——” Lemoine interrupted him. “I will be quite frank. With me, King Victor is an obsession. I see him everywhere. At this moment even I ask myself—this man who is talking to me, this M. Cade, is he, perhaps, King Victor?” “Good Lord,” said Anthony, “you have got it badly.” “What do I care for the diamond? For the discovery of the murderer of Prince Michael? I leave those affairs to my colleague of Scotland Yard whose business it is. Me, I am in England for one purpose, and one purpose only, to capture King Victor and to capture him red-handed. Nothing else matters.” “Think you’ll do it?” asked Anthony, lighting a cigarette. “How should I know?” said Lemoine, with sudden despondency. “H’m!” said Anthony. They had regained the terrace. Superintendent Battle was standing near the French window in a wooden attitude. “Look at poor old Battle,” said Anthony. “Let’s go and cheer him up.” He paused a minute, and said, “You know, you’re an odd fish in some ways, M. Lemoine.” “In what ways, M. Cade?” “Well,” said Anthony, “in your place, I should have been inclined to note down that address that I showed you. It may be of no importance—quite conceivably. On the other hand, it might be very important indeed.” Lemoine looked at him for a minute or two steadily. Then, with a slight smile, he drew back the cuff of his left coat sleeve. Pencilled on the white shirt-cuff beneath were the words “Hurstmere, Langly Road, Dover.” “I apologize,” said Anthony. “And I retire worsted.” He joined Superintendent Battle. “You look very pensive, Battle,” he remarked. “I’ve got a lot to think about, Mr. Cade.” “Yes, I expect you have.” “Things aren’t dovetailing. They’re not dovetailing at all.” “Very trying,” sympathized Anthony. “Never mind, Battle, if the worst comes to the worst, you can always arrest me. You’ve got my guilty footprints to fall back upon, remember.” But the superintendent did not smile. “Got any enemies here that you know of, Mr. Cade?” he asked. “I’ve an idea that the third footman doesn’t like me,” replied Anthony lightly. “He does his best to forget to hand me the choicest vegetables. Why?” “I’ve been getting anonymous letters,” said Superintendent Battle. “Or rather an anonymous letter, I should say.” “About me?”