"'They are the secrets of my business,' answered Russakoff.
"'Without doubt,' said the marshal. 'Your business is that of a spy. Your cloth-selling is a mere cloak to conceal your real calling.' Zabern kept him under examination for a long time. Russakoff refused to give the meaning of the mysterious paper; he failed to account for certain portions of his time spent at Slavowitz; and the marshal, convinced that the fellow is a spy in the service of Russia, has removed him for greater security to the Citadel where he now is. The paper has been entrusted to Trevisa for decipherment, and there the matter rests for the present."
"And you say the cipher puzzles Trevisa?"
"He can make no headway with it at all."
The duke seemed rather pleased than otherwise at Trevisa's failure.
"Zabern sees a spy in every man who comes from Russia," he sneered.
"Well, we shall soon know the truth. Zabern talks of employing the rack and the thumbscrew to-day."
"That's illegal," said the duke with a frown.
"So's duelling," retorted the premier.
Bora seemed on the point of making an angry reply, but checked himself and said,—