"Hvala Bogu," I put in brightly.

Stahl, startled again, shot me a glance. "I beg your pardon? Are you a Montenegrin?"

"Nope. Pure Ohio. The ejaculation was involuntary."

Wolfe, ignoring me, went on, "I would like to say, Mr Stahl, that my temperament would incline me to resent and resist an attempt by any individual to inquire into my personal history or affairs, but I do not regard you as an individual. Naturally. You represent the Federal Government. You are, in effect, America itself sitting in my office wanting to know something about me, and I am so acutely grateful to my native country for the decencies it still manages to preserve… by the way, would you care for a glass of American beer?"

"No, thank you."

Wolfe pushed the button and leaned back. He grunted. "To your question, sir: I represent no foreign principal, firm, individual, organization, dictator, or government. Occasionally I pursue inquiries here, professionally as a detective, on requests from Europe, chiefly from Mr Ethelbert Hitchcock of London, an English confrиre, as he does there for me. I am pursuing none at present. I am not an agent of Mr Hitchcock or of anyone else."

"I see." Stahl sounded open to conviction. "That's definite enough. But your early experiences in Europe… may I ask… do you know a Prince Donevitch?"

"I knew him long ago. He's getting ready to die, I believe, in Paris."

"I don't mean him. Isn't there another one?"

"There is. Old Peter's nephew. Prince Stefan Donevitch. I believe he lives in Zagreb. When I was there in 1916 he was a six-year-old boy."

"Have you communicated with him recently?"