"The quickest way to get from Charing Cross to Hammersmith Broadway," he said, "is to go by Underground." "Men have died in Hammersmith Broadway," replied the Grand Duke suavely. The Prince gritted his teeth. He was no match for his slippery adversary in a diplomatic dialogue, and he knew it. "The sun rises in the East," he cried, half-choking, "but it sets--it sets!" "So does a hen," was the cynical reply. The last remnants of the Prince's self-control were slipping away. This elusive, diplomatic conversation is a terrible strain if one is not in the mood for it. Its proper setting is the gay, glittering ball-room at some frivolous court. To a man who has just got the bird at a music-hall, and who is trying to induce another man to confess that the thing was his doing, it is little short of maddening. "Hen!" he echoed, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Have you studied the habits of hens?" The truth seemed very near to him now, but the master-diplomat before him was used to extracting himself from awkward corners. "Pullets with a southern exposure," he drawled, "have yellow legs and ripen quickest." The Prince was nonplussed. He had no answer. The girl behind the bar spoke. "You do talk silly, you two!" she said. It was enough. Trivial as the remark was, it was the last straw. The Prince brought his fist down with a crash on the counter. "Yes," he shouted, "you are right. We do talk silly; but we shall do so no longer. I am tired of this verbal fencing. A plain answer to a plain question. Did you or did you not send your troops to give me the bird to-night?" "My dear Prince!" The Grand Duke raised his eyebrows. "Did you or did you not?" "The wise man," said the Russian, still determined on evasion, "never takes sides, unless they are sides of bacon." The Prince smashed a glass. "You did!" he roared. "I know you did! Listen to me! I'll give you one chance. I'll give you and your precious soldiers twenty-four hours from midnight to-night to leave this country. If you are still here then----" He paused dramatically. The Grand Duke slowly drained his vermouth. "Have you seen my professional advertisement in the _Era_, my dear Prince?" he asked. "I have. What of it?" "You noticed nothing about it?" "I did not." "Ah. If you had looked more closely, you would have seen the words, 'Permanent address, Hampstead.'" "You mean----" "I mean that I see no occasion to alter that advertisement in any way." There was another tense silence. The two men looked hard at each other. "That is your final decision?" said the German. The Russian bowed. "So be it," said the Prince, turning to the door. "I have the honour to wish you a very good night." "The same to you," said the Grand Duke. "Mind the step." Chapter 9 THE GREAT BATTLE