“There is no doubt that an attempt was made to kill Herr von Lindheim by poison.”
“You have proof?” The question was put almost carelessly, with just as much show of interest as politeness demanded.
“The proof of my own eyes.”
“Not always the most trustworthy witnesses,” he observed, with his cynical smile.
“Your Excellency,” I said, “seems determined not to be interested in what has happened. So be it. My purpose in coming here to-day was to assure you of Herr von Lindheim’s loyalty, and to beg you to use your authority to put a stop to the attempts against his life.”
“You would seem to imply, sir,” he replied, stroking his face with his hand, “that these attempts which you allege have a political motive.”
“Assuredly.”
“It is too ridiculous,” he said, as though to himself. “My good sir, you have found a mare’s nest.”
I leaned forward. “Excellency,” I said earnestly, “can we not come to an understanding? I make no accusations, I seek to know nothing; my interference is merely forced upon me by pity and a desire to clear up a misunderstanding. I ask you to remove this cloud of danger hanging over Herr von Lindheim’s head. You can do it if you will, and I can assure you you will not repent it.”
If I thought my entreaty would move him I was mistaken. I might as well have pleaded with the bronze statue of a warrior king that stood in the corner behind him. He waved me back.