  Into the silence of amazement that ensued, came the Duke’s sneering laugh. “Surely, surely, you didn’t think to find it otherwise!” he said. His insinuation was so apparent that the Archduke turned upon him instantly. “Don’t be a coward, Ferdinand of Lotzen,” he said. “Speak plainly; do you mean to charge me with having removed the Book from the box?” The Duke bowed. “Just that, Your Royal Highness,” he said; “just that, since you must have it—you Americans are so blunt of speech.” Armand leaned forward. “The only way to deal with a liar,” he answered, “is to put him where he can’t lie out.” Ferdinand shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. “You play it very cleverly, cousin mine, but the logic of elimination is against you. I assume you will not accuse our dear dead master of having hid the Laws; and since his decease, the key, you admit, has been with only you and His Excellency, the Prime Minister. I assume also you will acquit Count Epping—I am quite sure I will—and so we come back to—you.” The Archduke had long ago learned that in an encounter with Lotzen it was the smiling face that served him best; so he controlled his anger and turned to the Ministers. “His Highness overlooks the logic of opportunity,” he said. “I was not in the Summer Palace, since the King’s death, until this morning.” Ferdinand laughed again. “Naturally not; you’re not such a bungler.” Baron Steuben, who had been pulling thoughtfully at his beard, eyeing first one and then another, here broke in, addressing Armand. “Would Your Highness care to tell us when you last saw the Book of Laws?” he inquired. “I shall gladly answer any question the Council may ask. The only time I ever saw either Book or box was the day the King offered me my inheritance as the heir of Hugo.” And once again came Lotzen’s sneering interruption. “And yet you could instruct Count Epping just how to manipulate the key:—‘turn the bit sidewise and push down and in.’” Retz half closed his eyes and smiled; Epping’s lips grew tighter; Duval and Marquand frowned; Steuben, with a last fierce tug at his beard, relapsed into silence. But Armand met the issue squarely. “It is my word against your inference,” he said. “I am quite content to let the Council choose. They, too, have seen that key used but once, and yet I venture that a year hence they also will remember the peculiar motion it requires.” “They are much more likely to remember your ready wit and clever tongue,” Lotzen retorted. The Archduke turned from him to the Council. “My lords,” he said, “there is small profit to you in these personal recriminations. The question is, who is King of Valeria, Ferdinand of Lotzen or myself—and as only the Book of Laws can answer, I ask that you, yourselves, search King Frederick’s apartments and interrogate his particular attendants.” Count Epping arose. “Will the Minister of Justice aid in the search,” he said—“and also Your Royal Highness?” addressing Lotzen. The latter smiled. “No; I thank you—what is the good in searching for something that isn’t there!”—then he turned upon Armand. “I assume you brought the box here,” pointing to the table, “and that you found it in the vault, where it is always kept—may I inquire how you got into the vault?” “Through the door,” said the Archduke dryly. “Then you know the combination—something the King never told even me. Observe, my lords, the logic of opportunity!” But Armand shook his head. “No,” said he, “I do not know the combination.” And Lotzen, seeing suddenly the pit that yawned for him if he pursued farther, simply smiled incredulously and turned away. The old Count, however, saw it too, and had no mind to let the opportunity slip. “Who opened the door?” he asked bluntly. “Her Royal Highness the Princess,” said the Archduke. And Epping nodded in undisguised satisfaction; while Ferdinand of Lotzen, sauntering nonchalantly over to the nearest window, cursed him under his breath for a meddler and a fool. As the Duke had predicted, the search of the King’s apartments and the vault proved barren; and then, his particular servants and such attendants as were in the Palace were summoned and examined, and also without result; indeed none of them remembered having seen either box or Book—save one: Adolph, Frederick’s valet. He said that, recently, his master had spent many hours in the evenings studying the Laws, going through them with great care, making notations and marking certain pages with slips of paper; that no one else was ever present at such times, and once, when he had unthinkingly approached the desk, the King had angrily bade him leave the room. Asked when he had last seen the Book, he answered the fourth day before His Majesty’s demise; which, he added, he felt sure was also the last time it had been used; but admitting, frankly, when pressed by the Archduke, that his only reason for so thinking was that he had not seen it in that interval. “Oh, as to that, my dear cousin,” said Lotzen from the window, the instant the valet had gone, “I am altogether willing to admit, and for the Council to assume, that the Book was safely in the box and the box safely in the vault when Frederick died. Don’t try to obscure the point at issue—what we want to know is what you have—I beg your pardon—what has happened to it since that time.” Armand waited with polite condescension until the Duke had finished, then he ignored him and addressed the Council. “My lords,” he said, “you are confronted by a most unpleasant duty: Valeria must have a King, and you must choose him, either Ferdinand of Lotzen or myself. We cannot wait until the Laws are found. I claim the throne by presumptive right; he, by a right admitted to be subordinate to mine. In the absence of the decrees my title is paramount, and the royal dignity falls on me. If the Laws be recovered, and under them I am not King, I will abdicate, instantly.” Lotzen had come back to the table and resumed his favorite attitude of leaning over the back of a chair. “Charming, indeed, charming!” he chuckled. “Make me King, and if the Laws unmake me I will abdicate when they are recovered—when—they—are—recovered! Do you fancy, messieurs, they would ever be recovered?” Count Epping saved the Archduke the necessity of answer. “Your Highness’ argument,” he observed, “is predicated on the hypothesis that the Archduke Armand has possession of the Book of Laws and is concealing it because it would, if exhibited, prove him ineligible to the Throne.” “Admirably stated!” said Lotzen. “But,” Epping went on, “you cannot expect the Council to accept any such hypothesis”—and all the Ministers nodded—“we must assume that neither you nor the Archduke knows aught of the Book, and whatever action we do take must be, upon the distinct condition, agreed to, here and now, by you both, that when the Laws are found—as found they surely will be—the Succession shall be determined instantly by them. Are you willing,”—addressing Lotzen—“that the Council, of which you are one, shall settle it, pending the recovery of the Laws?” “No, I am not,” said the Duke abruptly; “but pending election by the House of Nobles, I am content.” The Prime Minister watched the Duke meditatively for a moment, then turned to the Archduke inquiringly. “I am content, even as His Highness of Lotzen,” said Armand; he saw where the play was leading, and the other’s next move, and he was not minded to balk him; there was likely to be a surprise at the end. The Count faced the Council. “The matter is before you,” he said. “Having in view the Laws and circumstances, as we know them, to whom shall we confide the government?” and with a bland smile, he looked at the Minister of Justice—who, as the junior member, would have to vote first. Retz stirred uneasily and glanced furtively at Lotzen. He was not inclined to go so rapidly, or, at least, so openly. Had he apprehended any such proceeding he would have remained at home, ill, and let his dear colleagues bear the unpleasant burdens. It was an appalling dilemma. He wanted to vote for Lotzen—yet he was sure that Armand would be chosen. If he voted for Armand, he would bear the Duke’s everlasting enmity, and, in the end, the Laws or the Nobles might give him the Crown. If he voted for Lotzen, and Armand were chosen, he lifted himself out of the Council, and ended his career if eventually the American won. He ran his eye around the table and caught the smile on every face, and mentally he consigned them all to death and perdition. Then he heard Epping’s voice again: “We are waiting, Monsieur le Baron.” But Lotzen came to his relief—quite unintentionally; he alone had not noted Retz’s embarrassment, having been reading a paper he had taken from his pocket-book. “One moment, if you please,” he said. “I take it, that what may give the Archduke Armand preference over me in his claim for the Crown, is the presumptive right of the eldest male. If, however, by the Laws, he is specifically deprived of that right and made ineligible to the Crown, save under two conditions, I assume the presumption would be reversed, and he would be disqualified for the Succession until he had proved, by the Laws themselves, his rehabilitation?” The words were addressed to Epping, and the answer was prompt and to the point: “Your proposition begs the situation,” he said; “it needs the Laws to prove it.” The Duke laughed. “No, it doesn’t. I will prove it out of the mouth of the Archduke Armand himself.” He held up the paper. “Here is a copy of the Great Henry’s decree reinstating Hugo. I made it months ago, being, it would seem, wiser than I knew. With the first portion the Council is already familiar, Frederick having quoted it to you the day the Archduke Armand was presented; but of the last sentence, unfortunately, he made no mention; and it is that which governs now. His Royal Highness is fully acquainted with the original, and if my copy is not accurate he can make denial—nay, further, if he deny, I will accept whatever correction he may offer.... Surely, cousin, that is fair and honest—shall I read it—or will you?” Armand smiled indifferently. “You can do it with much better effect,” he answered. “Will you have all of it or only the last sentence?” “All of it.” Lotzen smiled maliciously. “The sweet as well as the bitter, cousin mine, with the bitter at the end.” Then he tossed the paper across to Epping. “Will Your Excellency read it?” he said. With a glance at the Archduke for permission, the Count complied:
“And now, my lords, attend,” Lotzen cut in. “Your pardon, Monsieur le Comte, pray proceed.” The old man paused a moment in rebuke, then resumed:
The Prime Minister slowly put down the paper, and every one looked at the Archduke—what would be his answer? There was no doubt that Lotzen had scored heavily, so heavily, indeed, that Retz made no effort to restrain his smile. “Does His Royal Highness deny the correctness of the copy and that the decree is as read?” the Duke asked. “I have never seen the decree,” said Armand, “and my—pray have the courtesy, sir,” (as Lotzen laughed and shrugged his shoulders) “to wait until I’ve finished—and my only knowledge of it is from hearing it read by the King, the day he offered me my inheritance; but if my recollection be accurate, the decree is as you have it.” In a flash the situation had become reversed, and it was now Armand against whom the presumption ran; and it was he, and not Ferdinand, who required the Laws to prove his claim. A heavy silence followed. Then into the stillness cut the Duke’s taunting laugh. “Exit the American,” he sneered. “Vale the foreign pretender.” It was, he knew, into Armand’s most vulnerable spot and, like the coup de grÂce, he had saved it until last; yet, to his astonishment, it brought only a contemptuous smile and an ignoring stare. “His Grace of Lotzen seems to have discovered a mare’s nest,” said Armand. “The decree that is required to make me eligible to the Crown and to restore me to my proper place in the Line of Succession was executed by Frederick the Fourth the night before he died.” And once again came Lotzen’s taunting laugh. “The night after he died, you mean, cousin,” he exclaimed. The Prime Minister turned upon him with a frown. “Your Royal Highness will permit me to suggest,” said he, “the propriety, under the circumstances, of neither you nor the Archduke addressing each other.” And Lotzen, discerning that the Council was of the same mind, nodded easily. “I cry pardon,” he replied. “Your Excellency is quite right—but you will understand, I deny the existence of this suspiciously timely decree. As to it, at least, there is no presumption of execution—the Laws alone can prove it.” The Count turned to the Archduke. “Your Highness has seen the decree?” he asked. “I have not.” “Did the King tell you it was executed?” “He did not—but he told another.” “And that other——?” “Is the Princess Royal,” said the Archduke. The Count paused a moment to give the situation emphasis—and Lotzen, chagrin and anger consuming him, yet smiling and unabashed, drew out a cigarette and carefully lit it. “Do you think Her Highness would honor the Council with the facts?” Epping asked. “I will acquaint her with your desires,” said Armand. |
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