“I have come on a matter which is for your Majesty’s ear alone,” was the sturdy reply.
Ferdinand affected to hesitate, then motioned his curious circle to a distance. “Now speak out, Count, and briefly.”
But Irromar dropped his strong vibrating voice almost to a whisper, as he bent forward to the King. “It is of your Majesty’s cousin, Prince Ludwig, that I have come here to speak!”
He watched closely the effect of his words, and saw nothing but a curious, indefinable expression flash across his hearer’s face. But it was enough. And although Ferdinand’s next remark was made in a tone of studied indifference, Count Irromar knew that the hit was more than a touch.
“Well? You know, perhaps, what has become of him? His fate?”
Irromar bowed assent. “He is at this moment in my power: a prisoner in my castle in the Teufelswald.”
If the news gave Ferdinand an uncomfortable thrill, he did not show it. The pale face, with its stiff yellow moustache and beard, remained impassive. Only, in the eyes there was a light of fierce concern. Perhaps, after all, the knowledge that one phase of his uncertainty was at an end came as a relief to him.
“Well?” Ferdinand had now to use his cunning; he would let suggestions come from the other side.
“I thought,” the Count answered readily, “that the information might be of vital interest to your Majesty.”
“In what way, Count?”