Ghelardi stooped and picked it up.
“Hallo!” he exclaimed, “what does this mean, Your Highness? A safe key!”
The unhappy girl, white as death, nodded in the affirmative.
The white-haired official stepped across, drew the brass cover aside from the keyhole, and tried the key. It yielded.
“And may I ask Your Royal Highness why I find you here, in His Excellency’s room, with a key to his private safe wherein, I believe, many secrets of our defences are kept?” he asked of her.
“I refuse to answer you, Signor Commendatore,” was her bold reply, as she drew herself up and faced him. “You have no right to question me. I shall answer only to His Majesty for what I have done.”
This bold declaration took Hubert aback.
“Very well,” replied the old man, pocketing the key and smiling that strange, cunning smile of his. “Your Highness shall be compelled to answer to him—and without very much delay.”
And he turned on his heel and without a word left the room.
“Ah! Mr Waldron,” she cried, wringing her hands, “what must you think of me? I know I have acted very foolishly—that I am mad—that I—”