“Well, well,” said Lord Caterham cheerfully, “everything seems to have been cleared up most satisfactorily.”
“Everything but one thing,” said Mr. Isaacstein.
“What is that?”
The great financier looked steadily at Anthony.
“What did you get me down here for? Just to assist at a dramatic scene as an interested onlooker.”
Anthony shook his head.
“No, Mr. Isaacstein. You are a busy man whose time is money. Why did you come down here originally?”
“To negotiate a loan.”
“With whom?”
“Prince Michael of Herzoslovakia.”
“Exactly. Prince Michael is dead. Are you prepared to offer the same loan on the same terms to his cousin Nicholas?”
“Can you produce him? I thought he was killed in the Congo?”
“He was killed all right. I killed him. Oh, no, I’m not a murderer. When I say I killed him, I mean that I spread the report of his death. I promised you a prince, Mr. Isaacstein. Will I do?”
“You?”
“Yes, I’m the man. Nicholas Sergius Alexander Ferdinand Obolovitch. Rather long for the kind of life I proposed to live, so I emerged from the Congo as plain Anthony Cade.”