“What were you doing in my papers?” his voice grated out.
Perhaps the prince had seen nothing, was merely suspicious. “What papers?” Drexel asked, with an effort at surprise.
“You cannot pretend innocence! I came in here a minute ago—heard whispers—looked in and saw you in my private papers.”
Drexel, feeling there remained for him but the slenderest chance, did not see wherein that chance would be bettered by a mild demeanour. Besides, the mere sight of the man set his soul afire with wrath and hatred.
“Well, suppose I was? What then?” he coolly demanded.
“What were you looking for? What did you find out?”
Drexel shrugged his shoulders.
“Speak out! What were you looking for?”
“I do not choose to tell,” returned Drexel calmly.
“You do not choose to tell—eh?” repeated the prince. “I think you do!” And he drew a pistol and pointed it at Drexel’s breast.