“My lords,” he cried, “as Heir Presumptive I claim the Throne of Valeria. I call upon you, in the name of the House of Dalberg, to acknowledge me and to proclaim my accession.”
“Upon what does Your Royal Highness rest your claim?” Count Epping asked formally.
The Duke pointed to the box; he saw now it was shut tight and the key not in the lock—and this, with what had occurred as he entered, undoubtedly indicated either that the Book had not yet been examined or that it contained no decree fixing the Succession. In either event, he stood a chance to win; and, at least, he had need for time.
“Upon the Laws of the Dalbergs,” he replied, raising his hand in salute; “and under which, as you all well know, I have been the Heir Presumptive since my father’s death.”
“And you will accept them as final arbiter between us?” asked Armand quickly.
Ferdinand turned and looked at him fixedly.
“For the Crown, yes,” he said very softly; and not a man but understood the limitation and the challenge.
And the Archduke smiled, and answered in a voice even softer and more suave.
“So be it—I will chance the rest.” Then he addressed the Council. “His Excellency, the Prime Minister, has the key to the box; with your permission I will ask him to explain when and under what circumstances he got it.”
And the Count took care that Armand should lose nothing in the telling, and when he had finished, he drew out the queer little key, and holding it so all could see looked at the two Dalbergs inquiringly.