There was hurried whispering, a scramble and a hiding away, with a momentary giving out of the wind supply in the organ. The Chancellor came in quiet, fox-like and confident, ostensibly listening to the music, but having eyes for every movement round him. He stood by the screen overlooking the player till the Princess turned and saw him.
“Ah, Baron!” she said, with some show of composure, “how you startled me.”
“Do not let me interrupt you, Princess,” he protested grimly.
“Oh, I have finished playing,” and she left the keyboard. “I did not know you cared for music, Baron.”
“I was a player in my youth,” he replied readily, “before the business of state-craft left me no time for the pleasures of mere sound. Ah,” he went on blandly, “this old organ has a history; it would be a pity to have it removed. I came in to examine it.”
“The organ, Baron?” the Princess exclaimed incredulously and, it seemed to him, with trepidation, making allowance for her power of self-control.
“This organ,” he repeated. “There is a question of replacing it.”
“You are going to try it, Baron,” the Princess laughed, making way for him to reach the player’s seat.
“My fingers have long ago lost their cunning,” he returned with a gesture of protest, and a half-veiled look which suggested that their cunning had migrated to another part of his anatomy. “But at least I know something of instruments and will look at this.”
He affected to make a cursory examination of the manuals, the stops and pedals, counted the pipes, and so worked round to the door giving access to the interior. A look of intelligence had passed between him and Minna, and he felt confident that he had trapped his prey. “Now let me take a look inside,” he said casually.