“I’ll tell you the whole story. I suppose you know all about Herzoslovakia?”
Anthony looked up sharply.
“Herzoslovakia?” he said, with a curious ring in his voice.
“Yes. Know anything about it?”
There was quite an appreciable pause before Anthony answered. Then he said slowly:
“Only what everyone knows. It’s one of the Balkan States, isn’t it? Principal rivers, unknown. Principal mountains, also unknown, but fairly numerous. Capital, Ekarest. Population, chiefly brigands. Hobby, assassinating kings and having revolutions. Last king, Nicholas IV . Assassinated about seven years ago. Since then it’s been a republic. Altogether a very likely spot. You might have mentioned before that Herzoslovakia came into it.”
“It doesn’t except indirectly.”
Anthony gazed at him more in sorrow than in anger.
“You ought to do something about this, James,” he said. “Take a correspondence course, or something. If you’d told a story like this in the good old Eastern days, you’d have been hung up by the heels and bastinadoed or something equally unpleasant.”
Jimmy pursued his course quite unmoved by these strictures.
“Ever heard of Count Stylptitch?”
“Now you’re talking,” said Anthony. “Many people who have never heard of Herzoslovakia would brighten at the mention of Count