"Nogam!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Where is the Princess Sofia?"
"In 'er apartment, sir."
"And Mr. Karslake?"
"In 'is."
"Then be good enough to send Shaik Tsin to me."
"Yes, sir."
"And, Nogam!"--the servant checked in the act of turning--"I shan't need
you again to-night."
"'Nk you, sir."
When Nogam had left the room, Sturm, remarking the slight frown that
knitted Victor's brows, ventured an impertinence couched in a form of
respectful enquiry:
"Excellency, perhaps you trust that fellow too much, hein?"
"You think so?"
"He is too perfect, if you ask me--never makes a false move."
"Either he is what he seems, in which event a false move would be against
nature; or he is not, and knows one slip would mean his death."
"Still, I maintain you trust him too much."
"With what?"
"The freedom of your house, the opportunity to spy, to get to know who
comes to see you and when, to listen at doors."
"You have caught him listening at doors?"
"Not yet. But in time--"
"I think not. I don't think he has to."
"You mean," Sturm stammered, perturbed, "you think he knows--suspects?"
"I think he is one thing or the other: merely Nogam, or one of the greatest
of living actors. In either case he is flawless--thus far. But if not
merely Nogam, he will have a subtler means of eavesdropping than by
listening at doors."
"The dictograph?"
"Make your mind easy about that. This room is searched regularly by Shaik
Tsin. So is Nogam's.
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