“Yes, yes, I know what I am talking about. You have with you the Memoirs of the late Count Stylptitch.” He fixed Anthony with an accusing eye. “And if I have? What have the Memoirs of Count Stylptitch to do with Prince Michael?” “They will cause scandals.” “Most memoirs do that,” said Anthony soothingly. “Of many secrets he the knowledge had. Should he reveal but the quarter of them, Europe into war plunged may be.” “Come, come,” said Anthony. “It can’t be as bad as all that.” “An unfavourable opinion of the Obolovitch will abroad be spread. So democratic is the English spirit.” “I can quite believe,” said Anthony, “that the Obolovitch may have been a trifle high-handed now and again. It runs in the blood. But people in England expect that sort of thing from the Balkans. I don’t know why they should, but they do.” “You do not understand,” said the Baron. “You do not understand at all. And my lips sealed are.” He sighed. “What exactly are you afraid of?” asked Anthony. “Until I have read the Memoirs I do not know,” explained the Baron simply. “But there is sure to be something. These great diplomats are always indiscreet. The apple cart upset will be, as the saying goes.” “Look here,” said Anthony kindly. “I’m sure you’re taking altogether too pessimistic a view of the thing. I know all about publishers—they sit on manuscripts and hatch ’em like eggs. It will be at least a year before the thing is published.” “Either a very deceitful or a very simple young man you are. All is arranged for the Memoirs in a Sunday newspaper to come out immediately.” “Oh!” Anthony was somewhat taken aback. “But you can always deny everything,” he said hopefully. The Baron shook his head sadly. “No, no, through the hat you talk. Let us to business come. One thousand pounds you are to have, is it not so? You see, I have the good information got.” “I certainly congratulate the Intelligence Department of the Loyalists.” “Then I to you offer fifteen hundred.” Anthony stared at him in amazement, then shook his head ruefully. “I’m afraid it can’t be done,” he said, with regret. “Good. I to you offer two thousand.” “You tempt me, Baron, you tempt me. But I still say it can’t be done.” “Your own price name, then.” “I’m afraid you don’t understand the position. I’m perfectly willing to believe that you are on the side of the angels, and that these Memoirs may damage your cause. Nevertheless, I’ve undertaken the job, and I’ve got to carry it through. See? I can’t allow myself to be bought off by the other side. That kind of thing isn’t done.” The Baron listened very attentively. At the end of Anthony’s speech he nodded his head several times. “I see. Your honour as an English gentleman it is?” “Well, we don’t put it that way ourselves,” said Anthony. “But I dare say, allowing for a difference in vocabulary, that we both mean much the same thing.” The Baron rose to his feet.