Schumacker sat for some time with folded arms and bent head, buried in thought. Suddenly he looked up at Ordener, who stood before him in silence.
“Well?” said he.
“My lord Count, Dispolsen was murdered.”
The old man’s head again drooped upon his breast. Ordener went on: “His assassin is a noted robber,—Hans of Iceland.”
“Hans of Iceland!” said Schumacker.
“Hans of Iceland!” repeated Ethel.
“He robbed the captain,” added Ordener.
“And so,” said the old man, “you heard nothing of an iron casket, sealed with the arms of Griffenfeld?”
“No, my lord.”
Schumacker hid his face in his hands.