“What color was the woman’s hair?” he asked.
“Black. Your Highness, black as her gown.”
He dismissed Hertz with a look.
“Moore,” he said, and without moving on, “this plot is tangling fast. Can you guess who this woman is?”
“‘The one who knows,’” said the Colonel promptly.
“Yes, and more—it is Madeline Spencer.”
“Impossible!”
“I hope so, God knows,” the Archduke answered; “I’ve had enough of that devil—Scartman, is any one awaiting me?”
The old fellow had come up at a run.
“Your Highness’ pardon,” he cried, bowing almost into the dirt; “had I known you were coming I would have been at the gate to receive you——”