The arrest of Lucille, my
dear Prince, would mean the ruin of your amiable society."
"This letter," the Prince said slowly, "why was it not produced at
the inquest? Where is it now?"
"It is deposited in a sealed packet with the Earl of Deringham,"
Mr. Sabin answered. "As to producing it at the inquest--I thought
it more discreet not to. I leave you to judge of my reasons. But
I can assure you that your fears for my wife's safety have been
wholly misplaced. There is not the slightest reason for her to
hurry off to America. We may take a little trip there presently,
but not just yet."
The Prince made a mistake. He lost his temper.
"You!" he cried, "you can go to America when you like, and stay
there. Europe has had enough of you with your hare-brained schemes
and foolish failures. But Lucille does not leave this country. We
have need of her. I forbid her to leave. Do you hear? In the name
of the Order I command her to remain here."
Mr. Sabin was quite calm, but his face was full of terrible things.
"Prince," he said, "if I by any chance numbered myself amongst your
friends I would warn you that you yourself are a traitor to your
Order. You prostitute a great cause when you stoop to use its
machinery to assist your own private vengeance. I ask you for your
own sake to consider your words.
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