"They are Russian spies, Highness."
"Fiddlesticks," she replied with the feminine faith in the man who had given her such tender care. "Anyhow," she temporized, "our Privy Council, not you, shall be their judges." With charming hesitation, she turned to make a suitable apology to Carter, when, as her eyes fell before his ardent gaze, they rested upon Carrick's heirloom lying on the table.
"Can it be?" she questioned as one in a dream. "Is it yours?" she asked breathlessly, her whole soul in her eyes and parted lips, as she turned to Carter.
"No, Your Grace," he answered, "it is my chauffeur's."
"Yours?" she skeptically inquired of Carrick. "Where did you get it?"
"He probably stole it. He had it hidden under his shirt," suggested Josef.
Her fine brows drew together in annoyance as she turned to look steadily into the crafty eyes of him she called Josef.
"You forget your place, sir. I gave you no leave to speak. Have you forgotten that I am the Duchess of Schallberg? Be silent until you are spoken to."
Josef shrugged his shoulders after he had bowed apologetically, for he saw that the lady was no longer looking in his direction. Minutely, closely, she was studying the face of the Cockney; first red, then pale, her own countenance betrayed some inward apprehension.
"It cannot be," she said huskily as if striving to dispel some doubt that would arise, "and yet there is no other jewel unlocated. Please tell me how you got this," she supplicated helplessly.