“And she also,” Von Lindheim replied. “The fellow is the most splendid clothes-peg and wig-block combined that I know. He is magnificent, the sort of magnificence that does not live to see its grandchildren.”
“He is a fool,” one of the others said, “to snap his fingers so close to the Jaguar’s snout.”
“Orsova is a fool, my dear Szalay,” Von Lindheim assented, “as I have just hinted.”
“And the Jaguar is couched and ready to spring at the right moment.”
“Our dear chief does not make a mistake or let another man make it against his policy.”
“Or woman.”
“Ah! He has a plan, and the Herr Rittmeister von Orsova forms no part of it.”
“No use for him. Prince Theodor——” I began incautiously, when I was stopped by a subdued chorus of “Hush!”
“Secrets of State, my dear fellow,” Von Lindheim said, laughing, but with a warning gesture. “You will get us into trouble. You Englishmen, with your excess of freedom, can’t realize how circumspect we have to be. You have no Jaguar ever ready for the spring. You don’t know our famous Red Chancellor—even by reputation.”
Strolling and talking thus, we had passed through the gardens and struck into a path, skirting a little wood beyond the pleasaunce of the royal grounds. My companions stopped and turned.