And the Duke, when he saw the order, smiled in quiet satisfaction; and Bigler chuckled and read it to Rosen at the Club—“Thank Heaven we shan’t have the other damned foreigner to contend with when we go after the American,” he had said.
But when the Duke learned who occupied the library, he cursed Moore and the luck that had put him there—with the Book in the vault, and to be got, and none but him to get it. For no one, not even his closest associates, might know he had found it—he could not trust even their loyalty against the fetish of the Laws. So it was for him alone to obtain it; and now the task—delicate enough at best—had become almost impossible for one man. Under every precedent, the King’s suite should have remained unoccupied, awaiting his successor; but, instead, this Irishman; this fellow with the quickest sword and surest eye in the Army; this devoted follower of the American, and, after him, the one man in Valeria whom he hated the fiercest and feared even more; he was—though thank God he did not know it!—guarding the Book for his master.
It was, in truth, the first faint frown of his Goddess, but Lotzen was too good a gambler to flout her at the loss of a single turn. It meant either a little more careful play or a little more recklessness. And, on the whole, the recklessness was rather more appealing than the care. If he could not easily recover the Book, he could, at least, adventure leaving it where it was—and let the Regent’s Adjutant guard it for him, too. And he smiled his cold smile—and longed to make a second Adolph of the Irishman, knowing well that he, skillful fencer though he was, could never reach Moore’s heart save from the rear.
And that day, he had thought to take a reconnoissance, and he had come to the Summer Palace, trusting for an opportunity to gain admission to the library, to open the vault. There was a possibility that the King’s effects had been removed from it, and the box might also have been taken; and, if so, it might be lying in some room, quite unguarded. Yet he deluded himself little on that score; the chance was too slight even to consider seriously; there was really no occasion for emptying the vault; on the contrary, Moore’s presence was the very best reason for leaving it untouched. Nevertheless, it was well enough to make sure.
And here again luck bent to him. As he turned the corner of the corridor at the end farthest from the King’s suite, Colonel Moore came out and hurried down the stairway opposite, without a glance aside.
Lotzen smiled, and went on to the library door—and smiled still more broadly when he saw it was open wide. Really, the thing was getting too easy! He stopped and tapped lightly on the jamb with his sword hilt—then stepped in and glanced quickly around. The shades were half drawn, but there was enough light for him to see that the room was empty. Going swiftly to the vault, he whirled the knob through the combination that Adolph had given him, dropped it at the final number and seized the handle.... The bolts refused to move. With a frown, he spun the knob again; and again they stood firm. A third time he tried, carefully and slowly, not overrunning the marks by the shade of a hair—and still the bolts stayed fixed.
With a muttered curse he stepped back, and from the paper in his pocket verified the formula he had used—though he knew he had made no mistake.... Could the valet have lied—have given him a wrong combination—have actually played him for a fool to his very face!... Impossible—quite impossible—he could recognize fear when he saw it; and no servant ever lied adroitly under such terror as had gripped Adolph at that moment. He stared at the vault and at the paper ... and, then, of a sudden, he understood—the combination had been changed.... Why—by whom, did not matter now. Enough, that behind that iron door the Book was surely lying, and he powerless to obtain it.... Well, so be it—he must chance the risk; the reckless game had been forced upon him by his enemies, and he would play it out. They did not imagine the Book was in the box—they would seek it elsewhere—and the American would lead in the seeking—on—on—on to Lotzenia, and the castle on the mountain, high above the foaming Dreer—and then!... A fell smile crossed his face, and his eyes narrowed malevolently—there would be no need for the Book, when they came back to Dornlitz.
As he stepped into the corridor, the door opposite, in the Princess’ suite, opened and Mademoiselle d’Essoldé came out.
“Your Highness!” she said, dropping him a bit of a curtsy.
“My lady!” he answered, bowing over her hand; then motioned behind him. “Who occupies his Majesty’s apartments?” he asked.