Hentzi's agitated voice disturbed them.

"Not one moment longer," he whispered. "I dare not."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

_DOWN TO THE SEA_

When Pauline had gone Trent was immeasurably happier in the hope she had given him. Until her visit his only chance of escape had been centered in the expectation that when once his hands were freed he might file the bars. There was now a scheme in his head worth many of that.

Half an hour after she had left two men entered guided by the now a.s.sured Hentzi.

"You have complained of the dirt here," the secretary explained, "and it will be removed."

The tiny spring saw was swept up un.o.bserved. Trent saw it disappear now with a smile where before it would have been black tragedy to him.

He slept well that night and shaved himself next morning in high spirits. It was not easy, shaving with handcuffs on, but it was possible. Then he waited for some message from Pauline.

Hentzi came into the cell at five.

"Count Michael will see you at ten tonight. My friend, I warn you to be wise and acknowledge defeat."

"That's not my idea of wisdom," Trent grinned so cheerfully that Hentzi was vaguely disturbed.

"You are more foolish even than the others," Hentzi said, shaking his head. "Brave men, all three. For my part I would be reasonable. I would say, 'I have fought a good fight and the odds were against me. How much can I save from the wreck?' That is the way to talk, my lord."

Suddenly he took a book from his pocket, a book tied with string and sealed but not enveloped in paper. He handed it to the American.

"This is from a friend," he announced. "I bring danger on myself in giving it to you but I can rely on your silence, eh?"

"Certainly," Trent said carelessly and betrayed no interest in the gift.

"At ten o'clock tonight? Is that it?"

"It is wise to acknowledge defeat," Hentzi said earnestly.

"We'll see when the time comes," Trent returned. "It's largely a matter of holding trumps my good Hentzi."

Anthony Trent tore the string from the book eagerly. In the middle, placed carefully in a s.p.a.ce hollowed among the leaves were the bar keys which might, with luck, open the doors to safety. About them was wrapped a half sheet of scented, green note paper. On it was scrawled very faintly in pencil, "I have put it where you told me to."

"Thank G.o.d!" cried Anthony Trent.

Then with some difficulty he managed to put the two thin steel bars in a special pocket long ago prepared for them.

The hours seemed very long until Hentzi, with Sissek and Ferencz, came for him. The two servants carried their big service revolvers.

The anxious moment was at hand, the moment that was to tell Trent whether he was to be utterly defeated or to stand a chance of escape.

"Take these off," he said holding out his manacled hands.

"No. No." Sissek and Ferencz cried together.

"The count said so," Trent frowned.

"I have had no orders," Hentzi a.s.sured him, "and that is one key I have not got."

For one desperate moment Anthony Trent thought of bringing down his iron ringed wrists on Sissek's head and attempting to escape. But he put the thought from him as futile. There was still another trump to play.

They led him, as he hoped, to the great room where the safe was, the room he had searched so carefully.

In a carved oak chair at the head of a table sat Count Michael. Pauline was there sitting in a chaise longue smoking a cigarette in a very long amber and gold holder. She did not turn her face from the count to the prisoner until he had stood there silent for a full minute. Then she looked at him coldly, sneeringly, and said something to Count Michael which brought a peal of laughter from him.

It seemed to Trent that he had never seen the two on such wholly affectionate terms.

There were two doors to the room. At one stood Peter Sissek, revolver in hand. At the other old Ferencz watched in armed vigilance. On the table before the count was a .38 automatic pistol. Shades were drawn over the long narrow French windows. In a chair before one of them Hentzi sat nervous as ever in the presence of his violent employer.

Before the other window was a big bronze statue of the dying Gaul. The stage was set very comfortably for all but the manacled Anthony Trent.

"You said I could have these off," Trent began, "these d.a.m.ned steel bangles that I've worn so long."

"It is for yourself to remove them," the count said suavely. "I am about to give you the opportunity. You see I am generous. Others would blame me for it."

"You are not generous," Trent snapped. "A coward never is."

The count's face lost some of its suavity.

"Who dares call me a coward?" he cried.

"I do," Trent returned promptly. "You are a coward. Here am I, an unarmed man among three with guns. The doors are locked and yet you keep me here handcuffed. Generous! Brave!" All his contempt was poured out as he said it.

"If I take them off will you give me your _parole d'honneur_ to make no effort to escape?"

Anthony Trent turned to Pauline.

"Madame," he said, as though to a stranger, "I cannot congratulate you on the courage of your friend. So afraid is he of one single man that he wishes me to give my word I will not try to escape. He forgets I am unarmed, in a strange and vast house filled with his servants, with death threatening me at any suspicious move. Are all your n.o.blemen of Croatia as cautious as he?"

Pauline did not reply to him. Instead she spoke to the count in German.

"Pay no attention to him," she counselled. "I know that you are brave, my Michael. Let him laugh at you for a coward if he wishes. I would not have him hurt you or frighten you for the world."

"Frighten _me_!" cried the count, "Hurt _me_!" He flung a little key across the table to Hentzi. "Take them off," he commanded.

Trent examined his reddened wrists with a frown.

"This should never have been done," he declared. Then he turned to Hentzi. "I need a cigarette."