The Weight of the Crown by Fred M. White

Mazaroff was disposed of at any rate for the present. Lechmere's letter to the Chief of the Police in Paris had not been futile. He was pretty well posted with the life story of the man who called himself Prince Mazaroff, who, in point of fact, was one of the greatest scoundrels of his time. Under another name the French police had long wanted him for an old offence, and Lechmere had been in a position to supply the missing details and facts for identification. Besides, the head of the Paris police was an old acquaintance of Lechmere's, and valued his opinion highly. Thus it was that no time was lost in tying Mazaroff by the heels after receipt of Lechmere's letter. Mazaroff was a cunning enough scoundrel, but he had more than his match in the old queen's messenger. The coast was quite clear now.

Nothing was in the way of taking the body of the unfortunate king back to England. Nobody must know that he had died, at least not for the present. The secret was valuable for the moment. Of course, the queen must be told and General Maxgregor, but nobody else. It was early the next morning that Lechmere saw both Alexis and Maxwell, and found them going on well. He explained briefly to both what had happened.