“And by ‘the King,’” drawled Retz, “you mean——?”
There was a sudden silence—then General Duval brought his fist down on the table with a bang.
“Monsieur le Baron,” he exclaimed, “you understand perfectly whom I meant by the King—the Archduke Armand. If he is not the King, and you know it, it is your duty as a member of the Council to disclose the fact to us forthwith; this is no time nor place to indulge in innuendoes.”
The Baron’s small grey eyes turned slowly and, for a brief instant, lingered, with a dull glitter, on the War Minister’s face.
“My dear General,” he laughed, “you are so precipitate. If you ever lead an army you will deal only in frontal attacks—and defeats. I assure you I know nothing; but to restate your own question: if the Archduke Armand be the King, why didn’t he sign the proclamation?”
Steuben, the grey-bearded Minister of the Interior, cut in with a growl.
“What is the profit of all these wonderful theories?” he demanded, eyeing Retz. “The ordinary and reasonable explanation is that the proclamation is to be submitted to us this morning.”
“In which event,” said the Baron, “we shall have the explanation in a very few minutes,” and resumed his study of the ceiling.
“And in the meantime,” remarked Admiral Marquand, “I am moved to inquire, where is the Duke of Lotzen?”
Steuben gave a gruff laugh. “Doubtless the Department of Justice can also offer a violent presumption on that subject.”