“Alas, Countess, I cannot tell you where the Princess is,” said Cyril. “But let us consider what we can do to obtain news of her Highness. You did not intend to speak before my secretary, did you? Mr Mansfield, please see that this visit is not mentioned.”
Mansfield retired, and finding in the garden the old man-servant who had accompanied Countess Birnsdorf, told him to wait in Paschics’s room, lest his livery should be recognised by the hotel servants. Scarcely had he returned to his writing when footsteps upon the path announced a second visitor. This time the intruder was Colonel Czartoriski, a white-moustached veteran of many fights, and master of the household to the Princess of Dardania.
“Where is your master, young man?” he inquired, looking Mansfield over in a peculiarly irritating way.
“Count Mortimer is in his office,” returned Mansfield curtly, resenting the style of address.
“Oh, indeed! Then I wish to see him.”
“Unfortunately you can’t. His Excellency is engaged.”
“So early?” very mildly. “I am indeed unfortunate. Who is with him, may I ask?”
“A lady.”
Colonel Czartoriski’s face became livid. “And you venture to acknowledge that to me?” he roared. “Who is the lady?”
“I am not at liberty to mention her name.”