The great house in Curzon Street awoke, the following morning, to a state of intense activity.  Taxi-cabs and motor-cars were lined along the street; a stream of callers came and went.  That part of the establishment of which little was seen by the casual caller, the rooms where half a dozen secretaries conducted an immense correspondence, presided over by Li Wen, was working overtime at full pressure.  In his reception room, Prince Shan saw a selected few of the callers, mostly journalists and politicians, to whom Li Wen gave the entree.  One visitor even this most astute of secretaries found it hard to place.  He took the card in to his master, who glanced at it thoughtfully.

“The Earl of Dorminster,” he repeated.  “I will see him.”

Nigel found himself received with courtesy, yet with a certain aloofness.  Prince Shan rose from his favourite chair of plain black oak heaped with green silk cushions and held out his hand a little tentatively.

“You are very kind to visit me, Lord Dorminster,” he said.  “I trust that you come to wish me fortune.”

“That,” Nigel replied, “depends upon how you choose to seek it.”

“I am answered,” was the prompt acknowledgment.  “One thing in your country I have at least learnt to appreciate, and that is your love of candour.  What is your errand with me to-day?  Have you come to speak to me as an ambassador from your cousin, or in any way on her behalf?”

“My business has nothing to do with Lady Maggie,” Nigel assured him gravely.

Prince Shan held out his hand.

“Stop,” he begged.  “Do not explain your business.  If it is a personal request, it is granted.  If, on the other hand, you seek my advice on matters of grave importance, it is yours.  Before other words are spoken, however, I myself desire to address you on the subject of Lady Maggie Trent.”

“As you please,” Nigel answered.

“It is not the custom of my country, or of my life,” Prince Shan continued, “to covet or steal the things which belong to another.  If fate has made me a thief, I am very sorry.  I have proposed to Lady Maggie that she accompany me back to China.  It is my great desire that she should become my wife.”

Nigel felt himself curiously tongue-tied.  There was something in the other’s measured speech, so fateful, so assured, that it seemed almost as though he were speaking of pre-ordained things.  Much that had seemed to him impossible and unnatural in such an idea disappeared from that moment.

“You tell me this,” Nigel began ­

“I announce it to you as the head of the family,” Prince Shan interrupted.

“You tell it to me also,” Nigel persisted, “because you have heard the rumours which were at one time very prevalent ­that Lady Maggie and I were or were about to become engaged to be married.”

“I have heard such a rumour only very indirectly,” Prince Shan confessed, “and I cannot admit that it has made any difference in my attitude.  I think, in my land and yours, we have at least one common convention.  The woman who touches our heart is ours if we may win her.  Love is unalterably selfish.  One must fight for one’s own hand.  And for those who may suffer by our victory, we may have pity but no consideration.”

“Am I to understand,” Nigel asked bluntly, “that Lady Maggie has consented to be your wife?”

“Lady Maggie has given me no reply.  I left her alone with her thoughts.  Every hour it is my hope to hear from her.  She knows that I leave for China early to-morrow.”

“So at the present moment you are in suspense.”

“I am in suspense,” Prince Shan admitted, “and perhaps,” he went on, with one of his rare smiles, “it occurred to me that it would be in one sense a relief to speak to a fellow man of the hopes and fears that are in my heart.  You are the one person to whom I could speak, Lord Dorminster.  You have not wished my suit well, but at least you have been clear-sighted.  I think it has never occurred to you that a prince of China might venture to compete with a peer of England.”

“On the contrary,” Nigel assented, “I have the greatest admiration for the few living descendants of the world’s oldest aristocracy.  You have a right to enter the lists, a right to win if you can.”

“And what do you think of my prospects, if I may ask such a delicate question?” Prince Shan enquired.

“I cannot estimate them,” Nigel replied.  “I only know that Maggie is deeply interested.”

“I think,” his companion continued softly, “that she will become my Princess.  You have never visited China, Lord Dorminster,” he went on, “so you have little idea, perhaps, as to the manner of our lives.  Some day I will hope to be your host, so until then, as I may not speak of my own possessions, may I go just so far as this?  Your cousin will be very happy in China.  This is a great country, but the very air you breathe is cloyed with your national utilitarianism.  Mine is a country of beautiful thoughts, of beautiful places, of quiet-living and sedate people.  I can give your cousin every luxury of which the world has ever dreamed, wrapped and enshrined in beauty.  No person with a soul could be unhappy in the places where she will dwell.”

“You are at least confident,” Nigel remarked.

“It is because I am convinced,” was the calm rejoinder.  “I shall take your cousin’s happiness into my keeping without one shadow of misgiving.  The last word, however, is with her.  It remains to be seen whether her courage is great enough to induce her to face such a complete change in the manner of her life.”

“It will not be her lack of courage which will keep her in England,” Nigel declared.

Prince Shan bowed, with a graceful little gesture of the hands.  The subject was finished.

“I shall now, Lord Dorminster,” he said, “take advantage of your kindly presence here to speak to you on a very personal matter, only this time it is you who are the central figure, and I who am the dummy.”

“I do not follow you,” Nigel confessed, with a slight frown.

“I speak in tones of apology,” Prince Shan went on, “but you must remember that I am one of reflective disposition; Nature has endowed me with some of the gifts of my great ancestors, philosophers famed the world over.  It seems very clear to me that, if I had not come, from sheer force of affectionate propinquity you would have married Lady Maggie.”

Nigel’s frown deepened.

“Prince Shan!” he began.

Again the outstretched hand seemed as though the fingers were pressed against his mouth.  He broke off abruptly in his protest.

“You would have lived a contented life, because that is your province,” his companion continued.  “You would have felt yourself happy because you would have been a faithful husband.  But the time would have come when you would both have realised that you had missed the great things.”

“This is idle prophecy,” Nigel observed, a little impatiently.  “I came to see you upon another matter.”

“Humour me,” the Prince begged.  “I am going to speak to you even more intimately.  I shall venture to do so because, after all, she is better known to me than to you.  I am going to tell you that of all the women in the world, Naida Karetsky is the most likely to make you happy.”

Nigel drew himself up a little stiffly.

“One does not discuss these things,” he muttered.

“May I call that a touch of insularity?” Prince Shan pleaded, “because there is nothing else in the world so wonderful to discuss, in all respect and reverence, as the women who have made us feel.  One last word, Lord Dorminster.  The days of matrimonial alliances between the reigning families of Europe have come to an end under the influence of a different form of government, but there is a certain type of alliance, the utility of which remains unimpaired.  I venture to say that you could not do your country a greater service, apart from any personal feelings you might have, than by marrying Mademoiselle Karetsky.  There, you see, now I have finished.  This is for your reflection, Lord Dorminster ­just the measured statement of one who wears at least the cloak of philosophy by inheritance.  Time passes.  Your own reason for coming to see me has not yet been expounded.”

“I have come to ask you to visit the Prime Minister before you leave England,” Nigel announced.

Prince Shan changed his position slightly.  His forehead was a little wrinkled.  He was silent for a moment.

“If I pay more than a farewell visit of ceremony,” he said, “that is to say, if I speak with Mr. Mervin Brown on things that count, I must anticipate a certain decision at which I have not yet wholly arrived.”

Nigel had a sudden inspiration.

“You are seeking to bribe Maggie!” he exclaimed.

“That is not true,” was the dignified reply.

“Then please explain,” Nigel persisted.

Prince Shan rose to his feet.  He walked to the heavy silk curtains which led into his own bedchamber, pushed them apart, and looked for a moment at the familiar objects in the room.  Then he came back, glancing on his way at the ebony cabinet.

“One does not repeat one’s mistakes,” he said slowly, “and although you and I, Lord Dorminster, breathe the common air of the greater world, my instinct tells me that of certain things which have passed between your cousin and myself it is better that no mention ever be made.  I wish to tell you this, however.  There is in existence a document, my signature to which would, without a doubt, have a serious influence upon the destinies of this country.  That document, unsigned, would be one of my marriage gifts to Lady Maggie ­and as you know I have not yet had her answer.  However, if you wish it, I will go to the Prime Minister.”

Li Wen came silently in.  He spoke to his master for a few minutes in Chinese.  A faint smile parted the latter’s lips.

“You can tell the person at the telephone that I will call within the next few minutes,” he directed.  “You will not object,” he added, turning courteously to Nigel, “if I stop for a moment, on the way to Downing Street, at a small private hospital?  An acquaintance of mine lies sick there and desires urgently to see me.”

“I am entirely at your service,” Nigel assured him.

Prince Shan, with many apologies, left Nigel alone in the car outside a tall, grey house in John Street, and, preceded by the white-capped nurse who had opened the door, climbed the stairs to the first floor of the celebrated nursing home, where, after a moment’s delay, he was shown into a large and airy apartment.  Immelan was in bed, looking very ill indeed.  He was pale, and his china-blue eyes, curiously protruding, were filled with an expression of haunting fear.  A puzzled doctor was standing by the bedside.  A nurse, who was smoothing the bedclothes, glanced around at Prince Shan’s entrance.  The invalid started convulsively, and, clutching the pillows with his right hand, turned towards his visitor.

“So you’ve come!” he exclaimed.  “Stay where yon are!  Don’t go!  Doctor ­nurse ­leave us alone for a moment.”

The nurse went at once.  The doctor hesitated.

“My patient is a good deal exhausted,” he said.  “There are no dangerous symptoms at present, but ­”

“I will promise not to distress him,” Prince Shan interrupted.  “I am myself somewhat pressed for time, and it is probable that your patient will insist upon speaking to me in private.”

The doctor followed the nurse from the room.  Prince Shan stood looking down upon the figure of quondam associate.  There was a leaven of mild wonder in his clear eyes, a faintly contemptuous smile about the corners of his lips.

“So you are afraid of death, my friend,” he observed, “afraid of the death you planned so skilfully for me.”

“It is a lie!” Immelan declared excitedly.  “Sen Lu was never killed by my orders.  Listen!  You have nothing against me.  My death can do you no good.  It is you who have been at fault.  You ­Prince Shan ­the great diplomatist of the world ­are gambling away your future and the future of a mighty empire for a woman’s sake.  You have treated me badly enough.  Spare my life.  Call in the doctor here and tell him what to do.  He can find nothing in my system.  He is helpless.”

The smile upon the Prince’s lips became vaguer, his expression more bland and indeterminate.

“My dear Immelan,” he murmured, “you are without doubt delirious.  Compose yourself, I beg.”

A light that was almost tragic shone in the man’s face.  He sat up with a sudden access of strength.

“For the love of God, don’t torture me!” he groaned.  “The pains grow worse, hour by hour.  If I die, the whole world shall know by whose hand.”

The expression on Prince Shan’s face remained unchanged.  In his eyes, however, there was a little glint of something which seemed almost like foreknowledge,

“When you die,” he pronounced calmly, “it will be by your own hand ­not mine.”

For some reason or other, Immelan accepted these measured words of prophecy as a total reprieve.  The relief in his face was almost piteous.  He seized his visitor’s hand and would have fawned upon it.  Prince Shan withdrew himself a little farther from the bed.

“Immelan,” he said, “during my stay in England I have studied you and your methods, I have listened to all you have had to say and to propose, I have weighed the advantages and the disadvantages of the scheme you have outlined to me, and I only arrived at my decision after the most serious and unbiassed reflection.  Your scheme itself was bold and almost splendid, but, as you yourself well know at the back of your mind, it would lay the seeds of a world tumult.  I have studied history, Immelan, perhaps a little more deeply than you, and I do not believe in conquests.  For the restoration to China of such lands as belong geographically and rightly to the Chinese Empire, I have my own plans.  You, it seems to me, would make a cat’s-paw of all Asia to gratify your hatred of England.”

“A cat’s-paw!” Immelan gasped.  “Australia, New Zealand and India for Japan, new lands for her teeming population; Thibet for you, all Manchuria, and the control of the Siberian Railway!”

“These are dazzling propositions,” Prince Shan admitted, “and yet ­what about the other side of the Pacific?”

“America would be powerless,” Immelan insisted.

“So you said before, in 1917,” was the dry reminder.  “I did not come here, however, to talk world politics with you.  Those things for the moment are finished.  I came in answer to your summons.”

Immelan raised himself a little in the bed.

“You meant what you said?” he demanded, with hoarse anxiety.  “There was no poison?  Swear that?”

Prince Shan moved towards the door.  His backward glance was coldly contemptuous.

“What I said, I meant,” he replied.  “Extract such comfort from it as you may.”

He left the room, closing the door softly behind him.  Immelan stared after him, hollow-eyed and anxious.  Already the cold fears were seizing upon him once more.

Prince Shan rejoined Nigel, and the two men drove off to Downing Street.  The former was silent for the first few minutes.  Then he turned slightly towards his companion.

“The man Immelan is a coward,” he declared.  “It is he whom I have just visited.”

Nigel shrugged his shoulders.

“So many men are brave enough in a fight,” he remarked, “who lose their nerve on a sick bed.”

“Bravery in battle,” Prince Shan pronounced, “is the lowest form of courage.  The blood is stirred by the excitement of slaughter as by alcohol.  With Immelan I shall have no more dealings.”

“Speaking politically as well as personally?” Nigel enquired.

The other smiled.

“I think I might go so far as to agree,” he acquiesced, “but in a sense, there are conditions.  You shall hear what they are.  I will speak before you to the Prime Minister.  See, up above is the sign of my departure.”

Out of a little bank of white, fleecy clouds which hung down, here and there, from the blue sky, came the Black Dragon, her engines purring softly, her movements slow and graceful.  Both men watched her for a moment in silence.

“At six o’clock to-morrow morning I start,” Prince Shan announced.  “My pilot tells me that the weather conditions are wonderful, all the way from here to Pekin.  We shall be there on Wednesday.”

“You travel alone?” Nigel enquired.

“I have passengers,” was the quiet reply.  “I am taking the English chaplain to your Church in Pekin.”

The eyes of the two men met.

“It is an ingenious idea,” Nigel admitted dryly.

“I wish to be prepared,” his companion answered.  “It may be that he is my only companion.  In that case, I go back to a life lonelier than I have ever dreamed of.  It is on the knees of the gods.  So far there has come no word, but although I am not by nature an optimist, my superstitions are on my side.  All the way over on my last voyage, when I lay in my berth, awake and we sailed over and through the clouds, my star, my own particular star, seemed leaning always down towards me, and for that reason I have faith.”

Nigel glanced at his companion curiously but without speech.  The car pulled up in Downing Street.  The two men descended and found everything made easy for them.  In two minutes they were in the presence of the Prime Minister.