Rollmar gave an impatient nod of dismissal. “That is all, Captain. Report yourself at six o’clock.”
Ompertz turned towards the door, then looked back. “The identity of the inhabitant of the organ, Excellency? Shall I——?”
The Chancellor waved his hand impatiently. “You may leave that to me,” he interrupted grimly.
When von Ompertz was gone he struck a bell. “Maurelli,” he said to the attendant. A keen-eyed under-officer came in.
“I have given Captain von Ompertz his liberty for certain reasons,” the Chancellor explained, in the quick peremptory tone of a man accustomed to handle all the various levers of the State-machine. “I have a use for him. Until I give orders to the contrary let an eye be kept on him, not too closely. I do not wish the Captain to leave the city or get drunk.”
“I understand, Excellency.”
A motion of the hand and the Chancellor was alone to work out his strategy.
CHAPTER VIII
A SCORE AGAINST ROLLMAR
COUNTESS MINNA VON CROY was a young lady of resource, of a ready wit and, when she was put to it, of considerable courage. But there was one person in the Court, perhaps the one person in the world, of whom she was horribly afraid. That was the Chancellor.
For the Duke—by himself, that is minus his wily old Minister—she did not care a straw. She could laugh at him as a weak, pompous figurehead, the mere stalking horse of the Chancellor, from whom he derived what terrors he possessed; a very marionette, which Rollmar’s skilful fingers made to strut and posture and frown as suited the purpose of the moment. She was never tired of reflecting, when in the royal presence, what a wonderful character the late Duchess must have possessed, since the Princess was so unlike and so vastly superior to her father. Yes, the Duke she could look on with a certain careless tolerant contempt. But the Chancellor? Ah, that was another matter. Countess Minna hated and despised herself for fearing him—for she was, under the laziness bred of court life, a girl of spirit—but, fight against it as she might, she could not get over the uncomfortable feeling of trepidation and nervousness with which the presence of that astute, inscrutable old schemer always inspired her. He seemed to carry with him an environment and an atmosphere of disquietude; a quiet terrorism radiated from him; he was power incarnate, the power of a mighty will and a resourceful brain, a quick tongue that would sting like a snake’s, and a trick of speech that always seemed to carry something behind its actual words. No wonder Minna was afraid of him; her sprightly sallies, when she nerved herself to stand up to him, fell blunted against the old man’s cynical condescension. He made her feel small, and that was why she so hated him and herself for her fear of him.