spot. Mr. Fish”—as the object of their conversation drew near—“I’m planning a peaceful afternoon for you.”
The American bowed.
“That’s too kind of you, Lady Eileen.”
“ Mr. Fish,” said Anthony, “had quite a peaceful morning.”
Mr. Fish shot a quick glance at him.
“Ah, sir, you observed me, then, in my seclooded retreat? There are moments, sir, when far from the madding crowd is the only motto for a man of quiet tastes.”
Bundle had drifted on, and the American and Anthony were left together. The former dropped his voice a little.
“I opine,” he said, “that there is considerable mystery about this little dust up?”
“Any amount of it,” said Anthony.
“That guy with the bald head was perhaps a family connection?”
“Something of the kind.”
“These Central European nations beat the band,” declared Mr. Fish. “It’s kind of being rumoured around that the deceased gentleman was a Royal Highness. Is that so, do you know?”
“He was staying here as Count Stanislaus,” replied Anthony evasively.
To this Mr. Fish offered no further rejoinder than the somewhat cryptic:
“Oh! boy.”
After which he relapsed into silence for some moments.