who was in Monte Carlo

I had to find out local intrigues and gossips,  and what was doing, who were the leading demi-mondaines and gamblers? Were there any possible Secret Service men? Hence the courier, a Swiss from Ober Arau, a district of Switzerland, I luckily knew well. When he knocked at the door, I cheerily bade him come in. I made my manner as good natured as possible. I offered him a real Medijeh cigarette. As befitting his station, he was slipping the cigarette in his pocket.

“Oh, no!” I said. “Light it, won’t you? Have a little smoke with me here. I’m a bit lonesome. I want to get my bearings. Won’t you join me in a glass of wine?”

That was my first oar in. After some commonplace conversation, as to how the season was, I asked:

“Anybody of interest here?”

I winked knowingly. Possibly it pleased the courier to have someone to chuckle over a secret. All my oars were in.

“At the Grand Hotel de Londres,” he said slyly, “there is a gentleman who does not fool me.”

I offered him another cigarette, helped him to another glass of wine.

“He is registered there as Count Techlow, but he can’t fool me. He is the Prince Galitzin.”