“Good evening, Herr Captain,” said the Baron von Einhard, his eyes twinkling.
Captain Lindenwald saluted in military fashion, and the Baron returned the salute as Edson brushed by him into the passage.
“You did not, I suppose, expect to see me in Paris, eh?” the newcomer observed.
“You were the last man for whom I looked, Baron,” the officer rejoined. “What is the latest news from Kürschdorf?”
“You have not seen the evening papers, then?”
“No.”
“His Majesty is much worse. His condition became alarming this morning, at nine o’clock. He cannot, the doctors say, live over forty-eight hours.” He made the announcement with an air of pleasurable anticipation. “I should fancy, Herr Captain, that your presence might be required at the Palace. Or,” and there was a world of cunning suggestion in his tone, “you have more important business here in Paris?”
“As you say, Herr Baron,” Lindenwald replied, visibly uncomfortable. He was questioning whether the Baron had overheard his conversation with Edson, and if so, how much. The man’s small eyes were like the eyes of a snake, beady and sinister. They compelled against one’s will.
“You remain here long?” von Einhard continued, smiling insinuatingly.
“The length of my stay is undetermined.”