"So I hear," he said slowly. "But in Shropshire, they tell me, they are
having trouble with the mangel-wurzels."

The prince frowned at this typical piece of shifty Russian diplomacy.

"How is your Highness getting on with your Highness's roller-skating?"
he enquired guardedly.

The Russian smiled a subtle smile.

"Poorly," he said, "poorly. The last time I tried the outside edge I
thought somebody had thrown the building at me."

Prince Otto flushed. He was a plain, blunt man, and he hated this
beating about the bush.

"Why does a chicken cross the road?" he demanded, almost angrily.

The Russian raised his eyebrows, and smiled, but made no reply. The
prince, resolved to give him no chance of wriggling away from the
point, pressed him hotly.

"Think of a number," he cried. "Double it. Add ten. Take away the
number you first thought of. Divide it by three, and what is the
result?"

There was an awed silence. Surely the Russian, expert at evasion as he
was, could not parry so direct a challenge as this.

He threw away his cigarette and lit a cigar.