Two minutes later, Anthony was conducted into a sumptuous inner sanctum where he was principally impressed by the immense size and roomy depths of the leather-covered arm-chairs. Mr. Isaacstein rose to greet him. “You must forgive my looking you up like this,” said Anthony. “I know that you’re a busy man, and I’m not going to waste more of your time than I can help. It’s just a little matter of business that I want to put before you.” Isaacstein looked at him attentively for a minute or two out of his beady black eyes. “Have a cigar,” he said unexpectedly, holding out an open box. “Thank you,” said Anthony. “I don’t mind if I do.” He helped himself. “It’s about this Herzoslovakian business,” continued Anthony, as he accepted a match. He noted the momentary flickering of the other’s steady gaze. “The murder of Prince Michael must have rather upset the applecart.” Mr. Isaacstein raised one eyebrow, murmured “Ah?” interrogatively and transferred his gaze to the ceiling. “Oil,” said Anthony, thoughtfully surveying the polished surface of the desk. “Wonderful thing, oil.” He felt the slight start the financier gave. “Do you mind coming to the point, Mr. Cade?” “Not at all. I imagine, Mr. Isaacstein, that if those Oil concessions are granted to another company you won’t be exactly pleased about it?” “What’s the proposition?” asked the other, looking straight at him. “A suitable claimant to the throne, full of pro-British sympathies.” “Where have you got him?” “That’s my business.” Isaacstein acknowledged the retort by a slight smile, his glance had grown hard and keen. “The genuine article? I can’t stand for any funny business.” “The absolute genuine article.” “Straight?” “Straight.” “I’ll take your word for it.” “You don’t seem to take much convincing?” said Anthony, looking curiously at him. Herman Isaacstein smiled. “I shouldn’t be where I am now if I hadn’t learnt to know whether a man is speaking the truth or not,” he replied simply. “What terms do you want?” “The same loan, on the same conditions, that you offered to Prince Michael?” “What about yourself?” “For the moment, nothing, except that I want you to come down to Chimneys to-night.” “No,” said Isaacstein, with some decision. “I can’t do that.” “Why?” “Dining out—rather an important dinner.” “All the same, I’m afraid you’ll have to cut it out—for your own sake.” “What do you mean?” Anthony looked at him for a full minute before he said slowly: “Do you know that they’ve found the revolver, the one Michael was shot with? Do you know where they found it? In your suit-case.” “What?” Isaacstein almost leapt from his chair. His face was frenzied. “What are you saying? What do you mean?” “I’ll tell you.” Very obligingly, Anthony narrated the occurrences in connection with the finding of the revolver. As he spoke the other’s face assumed a greyish tinge of absolute terror.