“My confidence in coming here,” I answered coolly, “is due less to courage than the fact that I have left a letter, containing word of my intention, together with several other pertinent matters, in the hands of a friend whom I can trust, and who will open it at a certain hour unless I am there to prevent him.”
My words amounted almost to a threat, at least, to a defiance, and the look they called up into his Excellency’s eyes was not a pleasant one. But he showed no other sign of annoyance; on the contrary, his next words were almost jocular.
“I trust, Herr Tyrrell, that you will take great care to avoid all accidents. For if anything should unfortunately happen to you while we have the honour to include you among our country’s guests, I take it that the responsibility—or worse—of such misfortune would be laid at our door. So I do hope you will take care of yourself, my dear Herr Tyrrell.”
“I will do my best,” I replied, bowing, and moving towards the door. I turned as he spoke again. The man looked genial enough now; the evil print on the face was smoothed over, the lines of cunning no longer made the rest stand out in relief.
“And so far as your friend’s fears are concerned,” he said, “you may take him my assurance that they are groundless. Herr von Lindheim is doubtless out of health, his nerves are unstrung. He needs a holiday; he may take one.”
“I have your assurance, Excellency?”
“You have my assurance. I trust you will both be careful.”
He half rose to return my bow, smiling, though it seemed, from my last glance, that the smile was growing more feline and sinister. There was no more to be hoped for or said, and I left him.