“Yes, Count.”
“And there is no possible chance of his escaping?”
“None whatever, Count.”
His Excellency took another turn to the window overlooking the rose garden, his head bowed meditatively. Lindenwald was still standing, his arm resting on the high back of the chair from which he had risen.
“You are quite sure,” His Excellency pursued, when he was again opposite the Captain, “that we need have no apprehension on that score?”
“Quite sure, Count von Ritter.”
Very slowly, and with a care and precision that emphasised the action, the Chancellor again unfolded the telegram he held and extended it towards Lindenwald.
“Then you will, perhaps, explain to me what that means?” he said, with a calmness that was portentous.
The face of the Herr Captain went ashen white. He caught his breath sharply, and his left hand gripped the chair back where a second before his arm had rested.
“Am leaving this evening, Orient Express,” he read. “Have me met on arrival. Arndt.”