"By von Bulow?"
My father bowed.
"Upon whose authority?"
"In your Majesty's name."
The King frowned.
"What papers did you receive with your prisoner, Colonel Bernhard?" he
said.
"None, your Majesty--except a despatch from your Majesty's Minister of War,
delivered a day or two before the prisoner arrived at Bruehl."
"How did he come? and where did he come from?"
"He came in a close carriage, your Majesty, attended by two officers who
left Bruehl the same night and whose names and persons are unknown to me. I
do not know where he came from. I only know that they had taken the last
relay of horses from Cologne."
"You were not told his offence?"
"I was told nothing, your Majesty, except that Monsieur Maurice was an
enemy to the state, and--"
"And what?"
My father's hand went up to his moustache, as it was wont to do in
perplexity.
"I--so please your Majesty, I think there is some foul mystery in it at
bottom," he said, bluntly. "There hath been that thing proposed to me that
I am ashamed to repeat. I do beseech your Majesty that some
investigation...."
His eyes happened for a moment to rest upon the card. He stammered--changed
colour--stopped short in his sentence--took off his hat--laid the card upon
it--and so handed it to the King.
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