"Sir Oliver, you are presently eliciting information already within our knowledge. Please proceed to something new, if you have it."
"Yes, my lord." Rathbone plunged on. As before, he had so little to lose. The risk was worth it. "The enemies you referred to who might in some way harm the Princess Gisela, you said they were in Felzburg, is that right?"
"Yes."
"Because in Venice they do not care. Venice is, if you will pardon me, full of royalty no longer possessing thrones or crowns for one reason or another. Socially, a princess is still a princess. You said yourself that people of any worth did not believe it there. And anyway, the Princess is in retirement, and one invitation or another will make no difference to her. Her friends, which is all she will care about, are totally loyal to her."
"Yes ..." Evelyn was still at a loss for his meaning. It was clear in her face.
"Would I be correct in supposing that these enemies, who are able to harm her, are not merely the odd disappointed past women admirers of Prince Friedrich, still holding a bitter envy, but people of some power and substance, able to command the respect of others?"
Evelyn stared at him wordlessly.
"Are you sure you wish this question answered, Sir Oliver?" the judge said anxiously.
Even Harvester looked puzzled. Rathbone would seem to be hurting Zorah rather than helping her.
"Yes, if you please, my lord," Rathbone assured him.
"Baroness..." the judge prompted.
"Well..." She could not contradict herself. She looked at Harvester, then away again. She regarded Rathbone with open dislike. "Yes, some of them are people of power."
"Perhaps political enemies?" Rathbone pressed. "People to whom the fate of their country is of the utmost importance? People who care desperately whether Felzburg remains independent or is absorbed into a unified and greater Germany, losing her individual identity and, of course, her individual monarchy?"
"I... I don't know..."
"Really!" Harvester protested, rising again to his feet. "Is my learned friend now suggesting some kind of political assassination? This whole argument is nonsense! By whom? These imaginary political enemies of Princess Gisela? It is the Princess herself that his client has accused." He waved his arm derisively at Zorah. "He is making confusion worse confounded."
"Sir Oliver?" the judge said with a slight frown. "Precisely what is it you are seeking to draw from this witness?"
"The possibility, my lord, that there are grave political issues at stake in the charges and countercharges which are flying," he answered. "And that it is the fate of a country which has fueled the emotions we see here today, and not simply a long-standing jealousy of two women who dislike each other."
"That is a question the witness cannot possibly answer, my lord," Harvester said. "She is not privy to the thoughts and motives of Countess Rostova. Indeed, I don't think anyone is. With respect, perhaps not even Sir Oliver."
"My lord," Rathbone said quietly. "Baroness von Seidlitz is an intelligent woman of political astuteness who spends her time largely in Venice and Felzburg. Her husband has considerable interests in many parts of Germany and is aware of the aspirations of nationalism, the prospects for unification or independence. He is familiar with many of the powerful men of the country. The Baroness's political opinions are informed and not to be dismissed lightly. I asked her if she believed a political motive possible, not if she knew the Countess Ros-tova's mind."
"You may answer the question, Baroness," the judge directed. "In your opinion, is a political motive possible in this tragic affair? In other words, are there political issues which may be affected by the Prince's death or by what happens in this court?"
Evelyn looked most uncomfortable, but without forswearing what she had already said, and appearing a fool, she could not deny it.
"Of course there are political issues," she admitted. "Friedrich had abdicated, but he was still a prince of the royal house, and there were old loyalties."
Rathbone dared not press it further.
"Thank you." He smiled as if her admission meant something, and returned to his seat. He was aware of Harvester's amusement, and of Zorah's eyes on him with curiosity. The gallery was fidgeting, wanting more drama, more personal passion.
In the afternoon they were satisfied at last. Harvester called Gisela herself. The room was in such a state of expectancy the holding of breath was audible. No one spoke. No one intentionally moved as she rose, crossed the floor and mounted the steps to the stand. A