A Prince of the Captivity

On a warm June evening three men were sitting in the smoking-room
of a London club. One was an old man, with a face which had once
been weather-beaten and was now intricately seamed with veins and
wrinkles. His bearing, his shoulders trimly squared even at
seventy, spoke of the old style of British regimental officer. The
second was in his early thirties, a heavy young man, with nothing
of the Guardsman about him except his tie. The third might have
been any age between forty and sixty, and had wr...