“Ordinarily it would be proper now for us to have a good, stiff drink, may be several of them,” he remarked, “but the only kind that fits this situation, so far as I’m concerned, is straight whisky, and I don’t believe this cursed place can supply it.”
“Quite right; it can’t,” said Moore; “I tried the other day—won’t anything else do?”
“No—nothing else; and it’s just as well I can’t get the whisky; I may need a clear head to night.”
“You are not going, sir!”
Armand nodded. “Going? of course I’m going—why not? and I only hope I’ll get a chance at my sweet cousin. We promised only to look—to raise no disturbance—and on Spencer’s account it is right enough that we should do nothing to betray her; but if Lotzen get in the way, Colonel, we are not obligated to avoid him.”
“Why should Your Highness walk deliberately into the tiger’s lair—when another can go quite as well, and without danger?” Moore protested.
The Archduke took a cigarette and tossed the case across to the Adjutant.
“Because I’m really hunting the tiger,” he laughed; “and I like excitement in good company—though I fear it will be a very tame affair.”
The other shook his head dubiously. “It’s not right, sir, for you to expose yourself so unnecessarily—let me go in command.”
“Nonsense, Ralph, you’re getting in Bernheim’s class; quit it. What I wish you would tell me is whether Spencer dropped her veil intentionally or by accident.”