"The carriage is ready, Baron?" Adrian asked, drawing on his gloves with his leisurely decision of movement.
"It waits at the lower door, sire."
"Very good. Are you ready, Allard?"
"Sire, I did not understand—"
"Well, you have always a coat here, I think."
That was true, and taking a key from his waistcoat pocket Allard silently opened the wardrobe that held their apparel for the motor trips. It was Adrian's affair, not his, if the proceeding awakened Dalmorov's ever-active curiosity.
However, the baron's attention was fixed on the master, not the man; he was watching Adrian with intent and crafty eagerness. He barely glanced at Allard when he came back ready to go out.
"I also may have the honor of accompanying your Imperial Majesty?" he urged.
"No," Adrian returned.
"Sire—"