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Updated: June 28, 2025
"That's my own idea of him," Lutchester replied, "and I think you will find him in the field with a pretty definite platform before long." "You think he's mixed up with Fischer?" the Ambassador inquired. "I'm sure he is," Lutchester assented. "Not only that, but they have something up their sleeve. I think I can guess what it is, but I'm not sure. How have things seemed to you here lately?"
"I think I have that pleasure," the American replied, shaking hands with Lutchester and Holderness. "Now we'll get an independent opinion," the former observed, pointing to the wall. "We were discussing that notice, Mr. Fischer. You're almost as much a Londoner as a New Yorker. What do you think? is it superfluous or not?" Fischer read it out and smiled.
Fischer's fingers stole once more towards the pocket into which, at Lutchester's entrance, he had slipped his revolver. Lutchester, to all appearance, remained sublimely unconscious of the tension which his words and appearance seemed to have created. He had strolled a little further into the room, and was looking down at the packet which he still held.
"I feel as though this were some sort of nightmare," he muttered. "I've known you for several months, Mr. Lutchester, and I have never heard you say a serious word. You dance at Henry's; you made a good soldier, they said, but you'd had enough of it in twelve months; you play auction bridge in the afternoons; and you talk about the war as though it were simply an irritating circumstance.
Graham just realised that there was a woman by his side whose face was vaguely familiar. Then the waves broke in upon his ears once more. "I was right, then, it seems," Pamela observed approvingly. "You were just the man for this little affair." Lutchester sighed. "Unfortunately," he confessed, "a messenger boy would have been as effective.
"It is no fairy tale," Lutchester rejoined, "that you are Prince Nikasti, the third son of the great Marquis Ato, that you and I met more than once in London when you were living there some years ago; that you travelled through our country, and drew up so scathing an indictment of our domestic and industrial position that, but for their clumsy diplomacy, your country would probably have made overtures to Germany.
Pamela talked all the time, but Lutchester was curiously tongue-tied. "You'll find Uncle Theodore, and aunt, too, most amusing," she confided.
Lutchester inclined his head gravely, as he looked towards it, a gesture entirely reverential, almost an obeisance. Nikasti's eyes were clouded with curiosity. He slipped down to the ground. "I have travelled in your country," Lutchester said gravely, as though in explanation. "I have visited your temples. I may say that I have prayed there." "And now?" Nikasti asked.
I think I could explain it to your sister." "I don't know that I should try," Van Teyl advised. "For all her cosmopolitanism, Pamela has some quaint ideas. However, I thought I'd warn you, in case she's a bit awkward." Pamela, however, had no idea of being awkward. She welcomed Lutchester with a very sweet smile, and gave him the tips of her fingers.
When one looks into your face, one sees the difference. But to me, of all people in the world! Why talk seriously to me! I am just Sonia, the gipsy nightingale. I know nothing of serious things." "You carry one very serious secret in your heart," he told her gravely, "one little pain which must sometimes stab you. You are a Frenchwoman, and yet " Lutchester paused for a moment.
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