He is helpless." The smile upon the Prince's lips became vaguer, his expression more bland and indeterminate.
"My dear Immelan," he murmured, "you are without doubt delirious.
Compose yourself, I beg." A light that was almost tragic shone in the man's face.

He sat up with a sudden access of strength.
"For the love of God, don't torture me!" he groaned.

"The pains grow worse, hour by hour.

If I die, the whole world shall know by whose hand." The expression on Prince Shan's face remained unchanged.

In his eyes, however, there was a little glint of something which seemed almost like foreknowledge, "When you die," he pronounced calmly, "it will be by your own hand--not mine." For some reason or other, Immelan accepted these measured words of prophecy as a total reprieve.