His insinuation was so apparent that the Archduke turned upon him instantly.
“Don’t be a coward, Ferdinand of Lotzen,” he said. “Speak plainly; do you mean to charge me with having removed the Book from the box?”
The Duke bowed. “Just that, Your Royal Highness,” he said; “just that, since you must have it—you Americans are so blunt of speech.”
Armand leaned forward. “The only way to deal with a liar,” he answered, “is to put him where he can’t lie out.”
Ferdinand shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. “You play it very cleverly, cousin mine, but the logic of elimination is against you. I assume you will not accuse our dear dead master of having hid the Laws; and since his decease, the key, you admit, has been with only you and His Excellency, the Prime Minister. I assume also you will acquit Count Epping—I am quite sure I will—and so we come back to—you.”
The Archduke had long ago learned that in an encounter with Lotzen it was the smiling face that served him best; so he controlled his anger and turned to the Ministers.
“His Highness overlooks the logic of opportunity,” he said. “I was not in the Summer Palace, since the King’s death, until this morning.”
Ferdinand laughed again. “Naturally not; you’re not such a bungler.”
Baron Steuben, who had been pulling thoughtfully at his beard, eyeing first one and then another, here broke in, addressing Armand.
“Would Your Highness care to tell us when you last saw the Book of Laws?” he inquired.