Manfred laid down the Heraldo di Madrid, removed his eyeglass, rubbed it with a spotless handkerchief, and laughed quietly.
“These Russians are droll,” he commented.
Poiccart frowned and reached for the newspaper. “Who is it—this time?”
“A Governor of one of the Southern Provinces.”
“Killed?”
Manfred’s moustache curled in scornful derision ...
