“I can’t help myself. I can’t let a pal like Jimmy down. But you needn’t worry. I’ve had time to wade through them, and I see now why people always hint that bigwigs don’t write their own reminiscences but hire some one to do it for them. As a writer, Stylptitch is an insufferable bore. He proses on about statecraft, and doesn’t go in for any racy and indiscreet anecdotes. His ruling passion of secrecy held strong to the end. There’s not a word in the Memoirs from beginning to end to flutter the susceptibilities of the most difficult politician. I rang up Balderson to-day, and arranged with him that I’d deliver the manuscript to-night before midnight. But Jimmy can do his own dirty work now that’s he’s here.” “I’m off,” said Jimmy. “I like the idea of that thousand pounds—especially when I’d made up my mind I was down and out.” “Half a second,” said Anthony. “I’ve got a confession to make to you, Virginia. Something that every one else knows, but that I haven’t yet told you.” “I don’t mind how many strange women you’ve loved so long as you don’t tell me about them.” “Women!” said Anthony, with a virtuous air. “Women indeed? You ask James here what kind of women I was going about with last time he saw me.” “Frumps,” said Jimmy solemnly. “Utter frumps. Not one a day under forty-five.” “Thank you, Jimmy,” said Anthony, “you’re a true friend. No, it’s much worse than that. I’ve deceived you as to my real name.” “Is it very dreadful?” said Virginia, with interest. “It isn’t something silly like Pobbles, is it? Fancy being called Mrs. Pobbles.” “You are always thinking the worst of me.” “I admit that I did once think you were King Victor, but only for about a minute and a half.” “By the way, Jimmy, I’ve got a job for you—gold prospecting in the rocky fastnesses of Herzoslovakia.” “Is there gold there?” asked Jimmy eagerly. “Sure to be,” said Anthony. “It’s a wonderful country.” “So you’re taking my advice and going there?” “Yes,” said Anthony. “Your advice was worth more than you knew. Now for the confession. I wasn’t changed at nurse, or anything romantic like that, but nevertheless I am really Prince Nicholas Obolovitch of Herzoslovakia.” “Oh, Anthony,” cried Virginia. “How perfectly screaming! And I have married you! What are we going to do about it?” “We’ll go to Herzoslovakia and pretend to be Kings and Queens. Jimmy McGrath once said that the average life of a King or Queen out there is under four years. I hope you don’t mind?” “Mind?” cried Virginia. “I shall love it!” “Isn’t she great?” murmured Jimmy. Then, discreetly, he faded into the night. A few minutes later the sound of a car was heard. “Nothing like letting a man do his own dirty work,” said Anthony, with satisfaction. “Besides, I didn’t know how else to get rid of him. Since we were married I’ve not had one minute alone with you.”