  Through the story Courtney sat with half closed eyes, pulling at his gray imperial, the unlighted cigarette between his lips. With the main facts he was already familiar, as was every Embassy in Dornlitz, but much of the small details were new to him; and at the end, for a while, he was silent, fitting the incidents together in his mind. “Do you care to tell me what the police make of it?” he asked. “Nothing, as usual,” Armand answered. “Their intelligence doesn’t run beyond a hidden panel, and sounding every wall and floor in the Palace; they scorn any theory but that His Majesty concealed the Book.” “Which is perfectly absurd,” Dehra added; “why should he conceal it, with the box and the vault at hand?” “Why don’t you make them take another lead?” Lady Helen asked. “Because I’m sick of them and their ways.—I’ve sent them away—and away they stay; in another day there wouldn’t have been a wall in the Palace.” “She told the officer in charge the only way he could ever find the Book was not to search for it,” Armand laughed. “And then gave him a grade in rank to salve the words.” “Don’t interrupt, sir!” the Princess exclaimed. “And remember I can’t give you a grade.” “Was any one with the King after you left him that night?” Courtney asked. “Only Adolph, the valet,” Dehra replied. “I’m quite sure he would receive no one at that hour.” “And what did Adolph say as to the Book?” “That he hadn’t seen it for four days prior to Frederick’s death,” said Armand. “Who told you that?” the Princess asked quickly. “He told the Council.” “Then he deliberately deceived you; he saw it the night I did—the last night;—he came to the door just after the King spoke of Armand’s decree.” Courtney struck a match and carefully lit the cigarette. “Where is Adolph?” he asked. “He has gone back to France, I think.” Courtney sent a quick, inquiring look at Armand, which the latter missed, having turned toward Lady Helen. “Oh, I remember,” he replied; “there was a stray line about him in the paper—grief and so forth. At the time, I inferred he had been banished by the police, for some reason.” “We can have him back,” she interjected. The Archduke looked around. “Adolph is dead,” he said. “His body was found behind the hedge under the King’s library windows three days after Frederick’s demise.” “But his return to France?” Dehra exclaimed. “A fiction of your police, doubtless,” said Courtney dryly; “they are very clever.... He was—killed, of course?” “In the Park, the night the King died; a dagger wound in the heart,” the Archduke explained. “Do you know that to be the fact; or is it the police theory?” “I don’t know anything—indeed, it was only yesterday I learned of it and sent for the papers in the case.” “And the—killer, I assume, has not been apprehended.” “Naturally not,” said Armand; and proceeded to explain the matter as the police viewed it. “What do you think, now?” Dehra demanded, at the end. A bit of a smile crept into Courtney’s face. “I think,” he said, “that the only circumstance which relieves the police from utter imbecility is their not knowing that the valet had lied to the Royal Council as to the Book.” The Princess’ finger tips began to tap the table, and the little wrinkle showed between her eyes. “Don’t, my dear, don’t,” laughed Armand; “you can’t give the entire Bureau a grade in rank—and besides, they are not to blame. I called the Chief down hard yesterday, only to have him tell me it was the ancient and rigid custom never, except by special order, to investigate a crime that touched the royal household, nor to follow any clue which led inside the Palace. And I apologized—and instantly abolished the custom.” “They were specially ordered to search for the Book of Laws,” the Princess insisted; “wouldn’t that lead them to Adolph?” “Under their theory Adolph had nothing to do with the Book,” said Courtney. “Just so,” the Archduke remarked; “and between their rotten theories and customs the business has been sadly bungled.” “Their fatal fallacy,” said Courtney, “was, it seems to me, in assuming that no one but His Majesty and Her Highness could open the vault.—I have no doubt the valet had discovered the combination.” “But the box,” Dehra objected; “it was locked when I got it, and Adolph could not have had the key.” “He might have had a duplicate.” “I think not,” said Armand; “it is a trick lock with a most complicated arrangement, and to make a duplicate would have required the original key.” “Well, however that may be is not essential,” said Courtney; “the fact remains that, between eleven o’clock of one night and ten o’clock of the “But what possible motive?” the Princess exclaimed. Courtney smiled. “If I could tell you that, we would be far toward finding the Book; yet he had a motive—his lie to the Council proves it.” “You think he stole the Laws?” she asked. Courtney sent a smoke cloud shooting upward and watched it fade. “I think,” said he, “that if Adolph didn’t steal them, he knows who did; his lie can bear no other construction.” “And his death?” the Archduke asked. Courtney watched another smoke ring and made no reply. “Come,” insisted Armand; “answer.” The other shook his head. “I stop with the lie,” he said. “Indeed, I can’t get beyond it. The valet would have but one reason for stealing the Book—to sell it to—Some-one, who would have every reason to conceal or even to destroy it. Every logical inference points to this Some-one; and yet, for once, logic seems to be at fault.” “You mean the Duke of Lotzen?” said the Princess. Courtney smiled, but made no answer. “Your pardon,” she said, “but at least you can tell us why the logic is at fault.” “Because,” said he, “the actual facts are otherwise. As Armand knows, I like to play with mystery, and when I may help a friend I like it all the more. The logical solution of the matter, in view of the decree, is a knowing valet, and a ready buyer; yet the latter was not in Dornlitz, when the Book was stolen, nor has my most careful investigation disclosed any communication, by Adolph, with him or his friends. On the contrary, the evidence is absolutely conclusive against it; and hence acquits the Some-one of having had any hand in the theft.” “You knew, then, of Adolph’s death?” Armand asked. “Yes—though not all the details as you related them.” The Archduke smiled; there were very few details missed when Courtney started an investigation. “Your argument, Richard,” he said, “is based upon the hypothesis that Adolph is the thief, which appears most probable; yet did your examination suggest no other solution?” “Absolutely none—and, more peculiar still, I was unable to find the slightest trace of the valet outside the Palace, between the time he left the Council and the discovery of his dead body behind the hedge—though you and Her Highness saw him in the library after the Council adjourned.” “And that is the last time I ever saw him,” said Dehra. “And more than that,” Armand added, “it’s the last time any one saw him in the Palace; I had that matter looked into yesterday. The Council rose about noon and afterward not a servant nor soldier so much as laid eyes on him.” “Isn’t there something particularly significant in the place where Adolph was found?” the Princess asked. “Mightn’t he have been killed in the library and then, from the window, the body dropped behind the hedge?” Courtney’s hand went to his imperial reflectively. “A very reasonable and a very likely explanation,” he said; “and the nature of the wound supports it; it was a noiseless assassination;—but, again, that eliminates the Some-one.” “Very true,” said the Archduke; “he left the Council before it adjourned, to return at once to town.” “But did he return at once?” Dehra persisted. “Mightn’t he have remained and killed Adolph—some how, some way—I don’t know, but mightn’t he?” Armand shook his head. “I think not,” he said. “I looked into that too, and there seems to be no doubt Lotzen was in Dornlitz before one o’clock; and every moment of his time, until Adolph was found, has been accounted for; so, even assuming he didn’t leave the Palace immediately, he would have had to kill the valet within half an hour after we saw him in the library; and that, under all the conditions, is utterly incredible.” “Nothing’s incredible where Lotzen is concerned,” she answered. “So let us assume he did kill Adolph, in the King’s library, during that very half hour between noon and twelve-thirty, and answer me this: Why did he kill him?” “Either to get the Book of Laws or because Adolph knew too much concerning it,” said Armand, smiling at her earnestness. “Exactly; and, therefore, Lotzen either has the Book or he knows where it is.... Am I not right?” she demanded, turning to Courtney. “Undoubtedly, Your Highness—according to your premises.” “You don’t admit the premises?” “I can’t—they are too improbable—and the facts are against them.” “Oh, facts!” she exclaimed, “facts! I don’t care a rap for facts. Lotzen killed Adolph and Lotzen has the Book.” Courtney looked at her curiously—the idea was preposterous, naturally, but the very arbitrariness of her conclusions was softened by her earnestness and evident faith in their truth. It was, of course, just another case of woman’s intuition, that begged every question and tore logic into tatters; yet, sometimes, he had known it to guess truly, despite the most adverse facts—might it be that here was just another such guess? The table stood back a little way among the trees, and was hidden from the Palace by the hedge of rhododendron, that flanked the roadway where it swept around the great marble pergola; and so they did not see the man in undress cavalry uniform, who came slowly along the terrace, and, descending the steps, took the path leading to the sun-dial. At it he paused, with desultory interest seemingly, to read the shadow; bending over, the while, to blow away the dust. As he did so, the Princess saw him, through a rift in the hedge. First she frowned, then a quizzical smile settled on her lips, and she glanced again at Courtney. “Do you still doubt?” she asked. Courtney, preoccupied, looked at her a moment without replying. “Yes,” he said; “being a man and intuitionless, I still must doubt.” At that moment, the officer passed the hedge and they all saw him. “Cousin!” the Princess called,—“cousin!” The Duke of Lotzen faced about sharply, then doffed cap and approached. “Your Highness spoke?” he said, bowing. Dehra leaned on the table, her chin in her hand, and studied him a bit, while the others wondered, and Armand’s anger rose. “Cousin,” she said, “I have just asserted that you killed Adolph and have the Book of Laws—is it not the truth?” Lady Helen gasped; Armand half rose from his chair; even Courtney’s studied immobility of countenance was not impervious to his surprise. The Duke alone met the situation with perfect imperturbability. He neither started, frowned, nor changed expression in the slightest; the pleasant smile, that was on his lips, lingered unabated, while the hand that rested on his sword hilt was as steady as the cold, blue eyes which gave back the Princess’ gaze. Then, gradually, the smile broadened, creeping slowly upward, until it touched the cold blue eyes, though warming them not a whit; presently, he laughed, gently, and with just a trace of jeer. “It is not for a subject to contradict the Regent of Valeria,” he said—and with a bow and a salute he turned languidly away. And the Princess did not stop him, but in silence, chin still on hand, she watched him out of sight. |
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