“Hush, Battle!” George glanced suspiciously round him. “I beg of you, mention no names. Much better not. If you must speak of it, call it the K.” The superintendent looked wooden again. “You don’t connect King Victor with this crime, do you, Battle?” “It’s just a possibility, that’s all. If you’ll cast your mind back, sir, you’ll remember that there were four places where a—er—certain Royal visitor might have concealed the jewel. Chimneys was one of them. King Victor was arrested in Paris three days after the—disappearance, if I may call it that, of the K. It was always hoped that he would some day lead us to the jewel.” “But Chimneys has been ransacked and overhauled a dozen times.” “Yes,” said Battle sapiently. “But it’s never much good looking when you don’t know where to look. Only suppose now, that this King Victor came here to look for the thing, was surprised by Prince Michael, and shot him.” “It’s possible,” said George. “A most likely solution of the crime.” “I wouldn’t go as far as that. It’s possible, but not much more.” “Why is that?” “Because King Victor has never been known to take a life,” said Battle seriously. “Oh, but a man like that—a dangerous criminal——” But Battle shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. “Criminals always act true to type, Mr. Lomax. It’s surprising. All the same——” “Yes?” “I’d rather like to question the Prince’s servant. I’ve left him purposely to the last. We’ll have him in here, sir, if you don’t mind.” George signified his assent. The superintendent rang the bell. Tredwell answered it, and departed with his instructions. He returned shortly accompanied by a tall fair man with high cheek-bones, and very deep-set blue eyes, and an impassivity of countenance which almost rivalled Battle’s. “Boris Anchoukoff?” “Yes.” “You were valet to Prince Michael?” “I was His Highness’s valet, yes.” The man spoke good English, though with a markedly harsh foreign accent. “You know that your master was murdered last night?” A deep snarl, like the snarl of a wild beast, was the man’s only answer. It alarmed George, who withdrew prudently towards the window. “When did you see your master last?” “His Highness retired to bed at half-past ten. I slept, as always, in the ante-room next to him. He must have gone down to the room downstairs by the other door, the door that gave on to the corridor. I did not hear him go. It may be that I was drugged. I have been an unfaithful servant, I slept while my master woke. I am accursed.” George gazed at him, fascinated. “You loved your master, eh?” said Battle, watching the man closely. Boris’s features contracted painfully. He swallowed twice. Then his voice came, harsh with emotion.