Looking round, he found that Judith had left the table, and slipped quietly out of the room.
He turned to his right—and met Uncle Bond's curious glance.
Uncle Bond pushed a cigar box across the table, towards him.
The King chose a cigar absently.
Uncle Bond selected a long, and formidable looking cheroot, lit it, and then leaning back in his chair, began to talk.
"I would give a good deal to be able to read your thoughts, my boy," he remarked. "Perhaps I can read—some of them! If it were not for the bond of friendship between us, I should be tempted to regard you as a most fascinating psychological study. Your position, the circumstances in which you find yourself, at the moment are—unique. And you are becoming conscious of that, and of many other things, unless I am much mistaken. Our little comedy is drawing to its close, I fancy. Meanwhile, shall we share our thoughts? Or do you feel that silence is as essential, as it is said to be golden?"
The King hesitated, for a moment. His recent thoughts could be shared with no one—not even with Uncle Bond, not even with Judith—
Then, as he looked up, in his perplexity, his eyes were caught by the landscape, framed in the open window doors, in front of him. Instinctively, he fell back upon his earlier thoughts, of what was happening over there, beyond the wooded skyline, of why he had not heard from the Duke.
"I have been wondering what is happening over there," he said, indicating the far horizon with a gesture. "I begin to want to know what is happening. The Duke said he would be communicating with me, you know. I suppose you haven't heard from the Duke again?"
"No. I have not heard from the Duke," Uncle Bond replied. "But no news is good news, in this case, my boy, I am certain. My own idea is that the Duke will send no message until—everything has proceeded 'in accordance with plan'—until he has, definitely, 'cut the rope.' Then, and not until then, I think we may expect to see him here, in person."