“It’s about this Herzoslovakian business,” continued Anthony, as he accepted a match. He noted the momentary flickering of the other’s steady gaze. “The murder of Prince Michael must have rather upset the applecart.”
Mr. Isaacstein raised one eyebrow, murmured “Ah?” interrogatively and transferred his gaze to the ceiling.
“Oil,” said Anthony, thoughtfully surveying the polished surface of the desk. “Wonderful thing, oil.”
He felt the slight start the financier gave.
“Do you mind coming to the point, Mr. Cade?”
“Not at all. I imagine, Mr. Isaacstein, that if those Oil concessions are granted to another company you won’t be exactly pleased about it?”
“What’s the proposition?” asked the other, looking straight at him.
“A suitable claimant to the throne, full of pro-British sympathies.”
“Where have you got him?”
“That’s my business.”
Isaacstein acknowledged the retort by a slight smile, his glance had grown hard and keen.
“The genuine article? I can’t stand for any funny business.”
“The absolute genuine article.”
“Straight?”
“Straight.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”