“Exactly. And if I can’t, it’s the end of me—and my friends.”
“I think your friends would gladly try the hazard,” the Count answered. “It is dull prospect and small hope for them, even now. And candidly, my lord, to my mind, it’s your only chance, if you wish the Crown; for, believe me, the Archduke Armand is fixed for the succession, and the day he weds the Princess Royal will see him formally proclaimed.”
The Duke strode to the far end of the room and back again.
“Is that your honest advice—to go to Dornlitz?” he asked.
The other arose and raised his hand in salute. “It is, sir; and not mine alone, but Gimels’ and Rosen’s and Whippen’s, and all the others’—that is what brought me here.”
“And have you any plan arranged?”
The Count nodded ever so slightly, then looked the Duke steadily in the face—and the latter understood.
He turned to Madeline Spencer. “Come nearer, my dear,” he said, “we may need your quick wit—there is plotting afoot.”
She gave him a smile of appreciation, and came and took the chair he offered, and he motioned for Bigler to proceed.
“But, first, tell me,” he interjected, “am I to go to Dornlitz openly or in disguise? I don’t fancy the latter.”