“Who?”
“Herman Isaacstein. The representative of the syndicate I spoke to you about.”
“The all-British syndicate?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Nothing—nothing—I only wondered, that’s all. Curious names these people have.”
“Then, of course, there ought to be one or two outsiders—just to give the thing a bona fide appearance. Lady Eileen could see to that—young people, uncritical, and with no idea of politics.”
“Bundle would attend to that all right, I’m sure.”
“I wonder now.” Lomax seemed struck by an idea. “You remember the matter I was speaking about just now?”
“You’ve been speaking about so many things.”
“No, no, I mean this unfortunate contretemps”—he lowered his voice to a mysterious whisper—“the memoirs—Count Stylptitch’s memoirs.”
“I think you’re wrong about that,” said Lord Caterham, suppressing a yawn. “People like scandal. Damn it all, I read reminiscences myself—and enjoy ’em too.”
“The point is not whether people will read them or not—they’ll read them fast enough—but their publication at this juncture might ruin everything—everything. The people of Herzoslovakia wish to restore the monarchy, and are prepared to offer the crown to Prince Michael who has the support and encouragement of His Majesty’s Government—”