“Here, little one,” he said, tossing her the case—then he saw what she had, and for the shadow of an instant, which she detected, he hesitated—“fix one for me,” he ended, and sat down, seemingly in entire unconcern.
“Bring me a match,” she ordered, eyes still on the blotter, as she opened the case and took out a cigarette.... “There, I spoil you.” She laid down the sheet and lit another Nestor for herself. “Ferdinand,” said she, turning half around in her chair and looking up at him, “just where is this wonderful Book of Laws?”
“Here, in this drawer,” opening one beside her, showing the same package wrapped in black cloth that Armand and Dehra had seen in Ferida Palace.
“I don’t mean that one,” said she. “I mean the real Book.”
He sent a cloud of smoke between them.
“I wish I knew,” he said; “but the American won’t tell me.”
She scattered the smoke with a wave of her handkerchief.
“Are you quite sure he could tell you?” she asked.—“In fact, my dear boy, do you need to be told?”
He looked at her with a puzzled frown; and for answer she tapped the open blotter, and smiled.
“Even though inverted, a few words are very plain:—a King’s name and a date.... And the King died the next day.”