“We must not detain his Excellency here, Baron. Do you walk home with him—to his house, you understand?—as I was intending to do, and talk on the way.”
It is to be feared that the Baron’s murmured acquiescence did not adequately represent his feelings at the moment, but he obeyed, and walked on with Cyril, the Crown Prince looking after them.
“Good fellow that Prince of yours,” remarked Cyril, when they were crossing the courtyard, “but a terrible fool. Accept my condolences, Baron. If you feel as sick as you look, I’m afraid Hercynia will soon be without a Chancellor.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” said the Baron, pulling himself together. “No one can fight against folly. Can I do anything for you, by the way?”
“Yes, you can. Wire to my brother—you have stayed with him, so you know his address—and tell him to take no steps whatever about me. When I am ready, I’ll come home. I don’t want the might of the British Empire invoked to protect me against the spite of an angry woman.”
“What?” said the Baron, looking at him narrowly; “it is more than mere dismissal, is it?”
“Impeachment, if they can manage it. By the bye, Baron, in a trial it is possible that certain facts might come out which would throw a light upon recent Hercynian policy——”
“Oh, you resort to threats, Count?”
“By no means, my dear Baron. Threats between old friends and old political hands like you and me? Why, you should be grateful to me for simply directing your attention to possible dangerous contingencies. You know enough of me and of my methods to be sure that if the Princess of Dardania wishes to base her action against me upon documentary evidence she must forge it—and in that case she will not stop at implicating me. In self-defence, I might find it necessary to declare the truth, which might prove only less damaging to other people than the forgeries. You understand me?”
“I do. You wish us to make representations to the King, based upon the impolicy and ingratitude of his conduct towards the friend and servant of his parents?”