“What I wish to say has nothing to do with futures, cousin, only with the past, with the De Saure house—oh! that surprises you, does it?”
“Not half as much as the amazing mess you made of it,” said Armand.
“That, my dear cousin, is just what I came to explain,” said Lotzen quickly. “I had nothing whatever to do with the silly affair; it was a clever idea, but sadly bungled; I heard of it only the next day, and I want to assure you it was not my work—though, as I say, it was a clever idea—too clever, indeed, to be wasted so fruitlessly.”
The Archduke regarded him in speculative silence;—just what manner of man was this; and what could be his ulterior purpose in such an astonishing avowal!
“Will you tell me, cousin,” he asked, “why you should trouble to disclaim participation in an outrage, whose only offense, in your eyes, was its failure?”
Again Lotzen’s eye-brows went up. “I thought you would understand that it is in justice to myself; I would not have you think me guilty of so stupid a piece of work.”
“Doubtless, then, it will gratify you, monsieur, that I never doubted your complicity, however much I may have marvelled at the unskilled execution—you would have arranged it rather differently. Indeed, I was sorry that you, yourself, were not in command. I left a message, both upstairs and down, that I thought you might understand.”
Lotzen smiled, rather warmly for him.
“I understood,” he said; “your writing was exceedingly legible.”
“And I sent you another message, a little while ago, by the man with the wounded ear,” said the Archduke, his eyes upon the other’s bandaged hand. “I suppose you got it?”