“No, they hailed a couple of passing _fiacres_, and he didn’t hear what directions were given.”
Grey tore open the telegram which O’Hara had tossed onto the table. It was dated Kürschdorf. “The King is dead,” it read; “wire when you will be here,” and it was signed, “Ritter.”
He pushed it across to the Irishman, remarking:
“He probably had that news from some other source before he left.”
“In a way, yes. At least it directed him,” Grey said, with conviction.
“You surely don’t imagine the three of them have gone to Kürschdorf?” he blurted, in a tone of surprise.
“But why there, of all places? If Lindenwald is expected to bring the Crown Prince with him he surely wouldn’t go there empty-handed. What excuses could he make?”
“I don’t pretend to conjecture his excuses,” Grey replied, smiling, “but it seems very clear to me that Kürschdorf is his only sanctuary. There he will be with friends. Whatever he says is likely to be believed. If he fled elsewhere he would be in constant danger of arrest. His very flight would be evidence of his guilt.”
“You’re probably right,” he acquiesced; “anyway he turned he had to take chances, and Kürschdorf must have looked to him the least dangerous. What do you propose to do?”
“Follow him,” Grey answered, promptly. “Take the Orient Express tomorrow night.”
O’Hara put down his pipe and sat staring in amazement.
“Claims the throne?” he repeated, “the Crown Prince?”
“The Crown Prince claims the throne.” Grey reiterated it with calm decision.
“You mean that _you_ will claim the throne?” the Irishman persisted, still perplexed.
The dragoon guard got up and walked the length of the room, smoking very hard.
“That’s a dangerous business,” he said, as he came back and stood with the tips of his fingers resting on the table, “a very dangerous business.”
“There’s no other way in God’s world to find out who are in the plot,” Grey returned, grimly.
“I don’t quite see--” O’Hara began, but the American interrupted him.
“I haven’t mastered all the details myself,” he said, “but that’s the kernel of the nut we’re cracking. Perhaps von Einhard can aid us. He must know the conspirators, and he can give us the names of the men into whose hands we are supposed to play. I have a suspicion that the Budavian Minister here in Paris is one of the lot. But it won’t do to take that for granted. Otherwise I’d see him before leaving.”