And yesterday
Chetney did return. I read it in the papers."
"So did I," assented the American, soothingly; "and it struck me as
being a very good plot for a story. I mean his unexpected return from
the dead, and the probable disappointment of the younger brother. So
I decided that the younger brother had better murder the older one.
The Princess Zichy I invented out of a clear sky. The fog I did not
have to invent. Since last night I know all that there is to know
about a London fog. I was lost in one for three hours."
The Baronet turned, grimly, upon the Queen's Messenger.
"But this gentleman," he protested, "he is not a writer of short
stories; he is a member of the Foreign Office. I have often seen him
in Whitehall, and, according to him, the Princess Zichy is not an
invention. He says she is very well known, that she tried to rob
him."
The servant of the Foreign Office looked, unhappily, at the Cabinet
Minister, and puffed, nervously, on his cigar.
"It's true, Sir Andrew, that I am a Queen's Messenger," he said,
appealingly, "and a Russian woman once did try to rob a Queen's
Messenger in a railway carriage--only it did not happen to me, but to
a pal of mine.
Pages:
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341