Sir Leviticus glanced around the room. “Was this some dramatic rescue in the dark of night?”

“Dramatic to us, but pure common sense to His Grace. Soames was entirely motivated by greed, so His Grace simply dangled a sum of money before Soames, and Soames sold up and took the bait. Just like that, we were free. Greedy people are far easier to manipulate than the principled kind.”

That salvo apparently went straight over Weatherby’s head. Robert searched the room for Neville Philpot, but he, along with Lord Stephen, was nowhere to be found.

Thank God.

“Mr. Weatherby,” Drossman asked. “Have you questions for this witness?”

“Of course not,” Weatherby replied. “This witness is the next thing to a dilatory tactic, providing no insight into the Duke of Rothhaven’s present state of mind.”

“Not quite true,” Alexander said, pleasantly. “His Grace and I are regular correspondents. He wrote me a character to help me find my present post. He gave his violin to my wife, and she became proficient enough to teach music at the same academy where I’m employed. Both of my boys have modest trusts thanks to His Grace, and I will use those funds to see them educated as gentlemen. His Grace of Rothhaven is not only sane, he’s entirely decent.”

“The witness,” Weatherby said, “is opining about matters he is not qualified to testify to. The commission may excuse him with my blessing. I next call—or recall—Robert, His Grace of Rothhaven.”

“Mr. Weatherby.” Drossman crossed his arms and leaned forward. “I am cautioning you in advance that time is of the essence. Make your inquiries brief.”

Robert rose on slightly unsteady legs. Constance had bought him precious time, but more time would have been better. He took his place in the witness box and decided not to ask for a chair.

“Now, Your Grace,” Weatherby said. “I remind you that you are still under oath. Tell me, who sits upon the throne of England?”

The schoolboy answer came immediately to mind. “Good King George.”

“Ah, but which King George?”

The question was simple. Just as the French throne had been occupied by one King Louis after another, England for more than century had been ruled by a succession of King Georges. German George, Farmer George, Mad George…Robert’s mind refused to sort out the details.

“The royal one.” That produced a snicker from the jury. “He’s stout. He likes art. He spends like the entire national exchequer is his privy purse.”

“Right about that,” somebody called from the gallery.

“Would that be George the Fifth, then?” Weatherby asked, smoothly, too smoothly.

George the Fifth for some reason conjured an image of a mule. “George, to the best of my recollection. Not the fifth.”

Weatherby aimed a jovial smile at the jury. “Please note that His Grace thinks some random fellow named George sits upon the throne. Tell me, Your Grace, what is your name?”

“Robert.”