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'Was?' Sir Victor repeated.

'Yes. He won't be working with me any more. I had plans for him, but times change, plans change.' And he accompanied Sir Victor from the room, a bulky, tired man, only forty-six years old, whose weakened heart could not keep pace with his dreams.

Frank's second visitor was the managing director of the Union Line, which operated the mail ships to South Africa. It seemed strange that a man of such high position would be delivering the tickets, even to such a frequent customer as Mr. Rhodes, and Frank said so: 'I know he travels back and forth at least once a year, but this is most considerate of you. I shall tell him.'

'No! No!' the director said in real panic. 'My meeting with you is highly confidential.'

'What is it?' Frank asked.

'The princess. The Polish princess.'

'Who?'

'A lady of high rank. Berlin, Warsaw, St. Petersburg.'

'What's she got to do with Mr. Rhodes?'

'Ah, that's what we don't know.' Nervously he began to unfold an incredible yarn: 'I don't know whether it's a hoax or what. I don't know whether Mr. Rhodes is in some kind of danger or not. In fact, I don't know what I know.'

'Why not tell me what you think you know.'

'The Princess Radziwilla real princess bearing a distinguished Polish namefor some time she's been visiting us to talk about a shadowy trip to Cape Town. Says she has interests there. It develops that her interest is Mr. Rhodes. She never buys a ticket. She's interested only in when Mr. Rhodes is sailing.'

'That seems harmless.'

'Yes, but yesterday, within fifteen minutes of your ordering the two tickets to Cape Town . . .'

'He did the ordering. Did it himself.'

'Even more suspicious. Someone in this hotel, or someone in our offices someone notified Princess Radziwill. And as I said, within fifteen minutes she was in my office, wanting to know which stateroom he had and demanding the one next to it.'

'Now, that does pose problems,' Frank conceded. 'Who is this woman? Young? Adventurous?'

'Not at all. She is the true Princess Radziwill. Well vetted in the Al-manaca de Gotha. Not young at all. In her forties maybe, fifties, and looks it. May have been a great beauty once, but too much Polish and Russian cooking. Dark hair, no streaks of gray. Speaks acceptable English, but also French, German and, of course, Polish and Russian.'

'Has she any funds?'

'There's my problem, Mr. Saltwood. I have absolutely nothing to go on, but from years of selling tickets for boat passages, I'd say the Princess Radziwill conforms in every detail to the typical woman passenger who is going to give us trouble. Why do I say this? I don't really know. But that woman has financial problems.'

'Is there any chance that I might see her before we sail? Not talk to her, you understand. Just see her. Because we don't want a scandal, do we?'

The managing director thought that he might summon her to the office at three, to confirm her passage, or something like that, and if Frank happened to chance by to pick up his tickets . . . 'You wouldn't approach my door, you understand. Just the outer office, like any ordinary passenger. You could see her as she exits.'

It was arranged, and from a shop across the street from the Union Line offices Frank watched a shortish, attractive, dark-haired woman step out of a cab and walk in to confirm her stateroom. Casually he crossed the street, moved to a counter, and engaged the young male clerk in conversation about a possible passage to Australia. From where he stood, he commanded a fine view of the manager's office and had a good chance to study the Princess Radziwill of Poland.

She seemed gracious, well groomed, interested in the details of her forthcoming voyage. She talked with animation, and whenever he caught sight of her face, it seemed quite pleasant. If she was an agent in some conspiracy against his employer, she masked it well.

She rose rather sooner than he expected, walked briskly from the inner office, spotted Frank immediately, and walked straight