“But I thought that this man Grey, this embezzler, committed suicide—was drowned or something.”
“He was,” Lindenwald assented, “at least he is supposed to be dead.”
“It will be possible, I presume,” the Count pursued, after another moment of meditation, “to have the present temporary regency continued by simply proving that Prince Maximilian, the heir apparent, is alive and mentally incapacitated, though to have had him here in the flesh would have been far better. And now as to these proofs—I am in possession of copies of the papers, but where are the originals?”
The Captain shifted uneasily in his chair, and his eyes refused to meet those of his interlocutor.
“That is a question, Count,” he replied.
“A question!” cried the other, surprised and annoyed. “Why a question? Surely you are in possession of them!”
His Excellency, his face crimson, sprang to his feet.
“My God, Captain!” he exclaimed in a rage, “you exasperate me beyond all bearing.”
“I am deeply sorry, Count von Ritter,” returned Lindenwald, “but if you will hear me for one moment you will know that I am not to blame.”