"Mr. Pons, you should have been a diplomat."
"I leave all that to my brother, Prince Mirko," said my companion carelessly. "But I think that under the circumstances you would have done better to have taken our Foreign Office into your confidence."
"Perhaps, Mr. Pons," said Prince Mirko, studiously examining the glowing red tip of his cigar.
Sir Clifford Ayres rose to his feet and stiffly shook hands.
"A rapid convalescence and a complete recovery to your patient, Doctor. And my congratulations."
"Thank you. Good night, Mr. Pons. Good night, Doctor."
"Good night, Sir Clifford."
We waited in the hall as Miss Helen Helstone descended the stairs, her face still bearing traces of the excitement of the night and of her unexpected good fortune. Prince Mirko took the paper bearing her address and studied it beneath the chandelier in the hallway, his bearded face enigmatic.
"Dresdania is grateful, young lady."
He brushed her hand with his lips and bowed us out. The princess' car was waiting outside and conveyed us back to the high road.
"A remarkable achievement, Pons," I said, as soon as we were driving back in the direction of Clitherington.
"A case not without its points of interest, my dear fellow," he said with tones of approbation.
He smiled across at our fair client.
"They do things a great deal differently in the Balkans, Parker, but by his own lights Mirko has not done badly by Miss Helstone. By the time she marries — and providing she has handled her funds wisely — she will be a well-propertied woman."
And he lit his pipe with considerable satisfaction.