Lotzen closed the Book. “True, Adolph, true,” he answered, getting up and stepping back. “Put the Laws in the box—don’t let it lock.”
The valet sprang to obey; and as he leaned across the desk—his back to the Duke—and dropped the Book into the box, Ferdinand of Lotzen whipped out his sword, and, with the sure hand of the skilled fencer, drove the rapier-like blade through the man’s heart.
Without cry or struggle, Adolph sank forward; and the box locked, as the lid fell under him.
For a moment, the Duke held the body with his sword; then he slowly drew out the blade and wiped it on his handkerchief; while the dead man slipped from the desk and crumpled on the floor.
Lotzen looked down at him and shrugged his shoulders.
“You poor fool,” he muttered—“why did you read what didn’t concern you!”... He stooped and turned the body on its face. “No blood!—a neat thrust, truly.”
THE DEAD MAN SLIPPED FROM THE DESK.
He knew the room overlooked the King’s private gardens, and, going to a window, he cautiously raised the sash. It was as he had thought:—below was a thick hedge of box-wood, that grew to within a foot of the palace wall, which at that point was blank. Fortune was still his friend, it seemed; and, with a smile, he carried the valet’s body to the window and—after a quick survey of the garden to assure that no one was in sight—balanced it an instant on the casement, then dropped it behind the hedge.
Drawing down the window he rearranged the curtains and returned to the desk.