His face changed when he saw who it was.
“Ah, Caterham, come in. We were just wondering what had become of you.”
Murmuring something vague about duties on the estate, repairs for tenants, Lord Caterham sidled in apologetically. There were two other men in the room. One was Colonel Melrose, the Chief Constable. The other was a squarely built middle-aged man with a face so singularly devoid of expression as to be quite remarkable.
“Superintendent Battle arrived half an hour ago,” explained George. “He has been round with Inspector Badgworthy, and seen Dr. Cartwright. He now wants a few facts from us.”
They all sat down, after Lord Caterham had greeted Melrose and acknowledged his introduction to Superintendent Battle.
“I need hardly tell you, Battle,” said George, “that this is a case in which we must use the utmost discretion.”
The superintendent nodded in an offhand manner that rather took Lord Caterham’s fancy.
“That will be all right, Mr. Lomax. But no concealments from us. I understand that the dead gentleman was called Count Stanislaus—at least, that that is the name by which the household knew him. Now was that his real name?”
“It was not.”
“What was his real name?”
“Prince Michael of Herzoslovakia.”
Battle’s eyes opened just a trifle, otherwise he gave no sign.