hould?"

"The matter would arrange itself in precisely the same way," the Prince
answered. "You would not leave these rooms for two months."

The doctor leaned back in his chair and laughed shortly.

"This is rather hard luck on Inspector Jacks," he said. "He paid me ten
guineas the other day to lunch with him."

"Mr. Inspector Jacks," the Prince remarked, "is scarcely in a position
to bid you an adequate sum for your services."

"It appears to me," the doctor continued, "that I am kidnapped."

"An admirable word," the Prince declared. "At what time do you usually
lunch?"

The doctor smiled.

"I am not used to motoring," he said, "or interviews of this exciting
character. I lunch, as a rule, when I can get anything to eat. The
present seems to me to be a most suitable hour."

The Prince nodded, and rose to his feet.

"I will send my servant," he said, "to take your orders. My cook is very
highly esteemed here, and I can assure you that you will not be starved.
Please also make out a list of the newspapers, magazines, and books with
which you would like to be supplied. I fear that, for obvious reasons,
my people would hardly be able to anticipate your wants."

"And about that examination?" the doctor remarked.

"I shall do myself the pleasure of seeing you every day," the Prince
answered. "There will be time enough for that."

With an amiable word of farewell the Prince departed. The doctor threw
himself into an easy chair. His single exclamation was laconic but
forcible.

CHAPTER XXVI. SOME FAREWELLS

Never did Prince Maiyo show fewer signs of his Japanese origin than
when in the company of other men of his own race. Side by side with His
Excellency the Baron Hesho, the contrasts in feature and expression
were so marked as to make it hard, indeed, to believe that these two men
could belong to the same nation. The Baron Hesho had high cheekbones, a
yellow skin, close-cropped black hair, and wore gold-rimmed spectacles
through which he beamed upon the whole world. The Prince, as he lounged
in his wicker chair and watched the blue smoke of his cigarette curl
upwards, looked more like an Italian--perhaps a Spaniard. The shape of
his head was perfectly Western, perfectly and typically Romanesque. The
carriage of his body must have been inherited from his mother, of whom
it was said that no more graceful woman ever walked. Yet between
these two men, so different in all externals, there was the strongest