“It is not for me to dictate the use your Majesty should make of it.” His guard was good; it would have to be drawn out and weakened.
“And yet I dare be sworn,” Ferdinand returned, with his cunning smile, “that you had a use for it in your mind, or you would hardly have ventured hither.”
Irromar understood the invitation. “Perhaps, sire, a use which may be to the advantage of both of us,” he replied coolly.
Ferdinand was leaning sideways in his chair, with his hand playing at his sparse beard; it was a demeanour of sly reserve. “We should like to have your views, Count, as to this double advantage,” he said.
“Certainly, sire,” Irromar replied, playing his part with every outward sign of deference. “You will, perhaps, graciously pardon me if I express them too bluntly; but the position and opportunity are critical, and plain speaking fits them best.”
Ferdinand gave a quick, impatient nod of authority, and the Count proceeded.
“The Prince, is, as I have said, my prisoner, secretly hidden away where no man, unless I choose, can ever find him. He fell into my hands by an accident, and the fact is practically a secret which need never be known, save to those whose interest would be to ignore it. To all intents, he is dead and buried. It is for your Majesty to say whether he shall ever come to life again.”
He paused. “Go on,” Ferdinand said curtly.
“As to your Majesty’s interest and wishes in the matter,” Irromar continued, in the same tone of guarded deference, which yet seemed to mock as it flattered, “I do not presume to make a suggestion, or anticipate what may be in your Majesty’s mind. All that I wish to put forward is my hearty willingness to serve you, sire, in this matter. And, that you may trust me.”
Ferdinand, revolving keenly the crisis, smiled with a purposeful scorn which hid the inner working of his mind. “Confidence in Count Irromar is a somewhat unreasonable demand, methinks,” he observed.