together, arranging them in sequence. He laid them on the table between
Fullaway and himself, and for a moment or two sat reflectively drumming
the tips of his fingers on them.

"Who is this Princess Nastirsevitch?" he asked suddenly looking up.
"Royalty, eh?"

"No," answered Fullaway, with a smile. "I don't know much about these
European titles and dignities, but I don't think the title of Prince
means in Russia what it does in England. A Prince there, I think, is some
sort of nobleman, like your dukes and earls, and so on, here. But,
anyway, the Princess Nastirsevitch isn't a Russian at all, except by
marriage--she's a countryman of my own. I guess you've heard of her--she
was Helen Hamilton, the famous dancer."

Allerdyke shook his head.

"Not my line at all," he said. "It was a bit in James's, though. Dancer,
eh? And married a Prince?"

"Twenty-five years ago," replied Fullaway. "Ancient history, that. But I
know a good deal about her. She made a big fortune with her dancing, and
she invested largely in pearls and diamonds--I know that. I also happen
to know that she'd one son by her marriage, of whom she's passionately
fond. And I read this thing in this way: I guess the old Prince's estates
(he's dead, a year or two ago) were heavily mortgaged, and she hit on the
notion of clearing all off by selling her jewels, so that her son might
start clear--no encumbrances on the property, you know."

Allerdyke pursed his lips and rubbed his chin.