"A curious thing," said the count meditatively, "is that the lights went out only in my room. A well trained thunder storm Hentzi, eh?"

"Your excellence means that someone turned them off. I was on guard at the window as you remember."

"I know that you were. Ferencz was at the north door, Peter at the other. The thief could not be suspected and I was a dozen feet distant sitting in my chair. And yet, Hentzi, when I pressed the b.u.t.ton light again flooded the room."

"I suppose you are hinting that I did it?" Pauline said calmly.

When the count smiled, it was another man looking at her, a man to whom she was a stranger. For the first time a thrill of uneasiness took hold of her.

"Is hinting the right word?" Count Michael retorted.

"I might have done it," Pauline admitted, "I remember when I heard the crash of the broken gla.s.s jumping up. I probably put my hand out to steady myself and touched the k.n.o.b without noticing it. How unfortunate!"

"Again," said the count, "I must question your right use of words. You said 'unfortunate,' did you not?"

"There is one other thing which has puzzled me," Count Michael went on.

"Peter Sissek's wife thinks she saw you come back to the garage two mornings back soon after sunrise. She was wrong?"

"She was right," Pauline replied, "I could not sleep so I went out to try and find the missing coat."

"What loyal helpers surround me," the count murmured. "Before you retire to your well earned night's rest one other question."

"As many as you please," said Pauline, some of her burden of anxiety lifted. "What is it?"

"This thief knew of the presence here of certain exalted personages. He had never been anywhere but in the kitchen quarters and his own room. No servant of mine would have told him anything. There were many hours when I was busy and you played golf that you could have told him. I want your word that the information did not come from you."

"You have it," she said lightly. "Now as that is all I shall go to my room. This hideous place chills me."

"Pauline," Count Michael said sternly, "I have given you every chance to tell the truth. You have lied. It is in your nature to lie but I thought that one of your training would know when the time came to speak the truth. Such an hour is at hand. The man was your lover. You helped him to escape. That I am certain of. You have betrayed me and my cause--and your cause too--because you are a light of love, a thing who will accept a purchase price and then play false."

"My poor Michael," she said commiseratingly, "you drink too much of your own plum brandy. Tonight you are crazy. Tomorrow I shall have you begging for a smile from me. As it is I find you tedious. Hentzi, open the door."

The secretary made no move to obey her.

She shrugged her shoulders. Neither of the men judged from her manner the fear that began to enwrap her.

"Yours will be a cold smile tomorrow," Count Michael said, "and I, for one, shall not envy it. You have betrayed me but in the end I have triumphed. They have caught him Pauline. They are bringing him back to you. Do you think you will be there to aid him when he is my prisoner again?"

If Count Michael wished for tribute to his victory it was his now.

The confidence left her face. She was white and smileless. The courage and bold carriage of her splendid body seemed taken from her. She leaned heavily on the bare table. Hentzi, a prey always to emotion, could have wept for her forgetting she was his master's enemy.

To Count Michael her att.i.tude had the effect of whipping into white heat his repressed and savage rage. He had tried to believe that he still stood first in her affection. It was the vanity of the successful man whose desire has outlived his fascination.

No woman could be stricken to the earth by news of the capture of a man unless he were unutterably dear to her. It was clear confession of the victory of Lord Rosecarrel's agent. What desire for mercy had been in the count's heart died down. There came in its place the craving for instant and brutal revenge.

"So you did help him?" he said in a low harsh voice.

"Yes," she answered. "I thought I had helped him to succeed."

"And you admit you told him of the presence here of the prince?"

"If you like," she said wearily, "If I denied it you would not believe me."

"Take note of that, Hentzi," the count commanded him. "It is important, this admission of guilt."

Pauline hardly heard him. The shock of learning that the man she adored had been recaptured overwhelmed her. She tried to shut out the thought of what punishment would be meted to him now.

"I will talk more tomorrow," she said brokenly.

"Do you not understand that for you there will be no tomorrow?" She could see now that the count hated her. Jealousy had swept from him all memory of past affection. He could only think of himself as one betrayed by the man he hated. In vain she might look for mercy here.

"I am to be murdered?" she said looking from one to the other of the two.

"You are to be executed," he said. "You took your oath to support this movement and you have betrayed it. I have given you your chance to confess and instead you perjured yourself." He raised a service revolver from his table.

It was Hentzi who in this last black scene rose above his fears to plead for her. The count waved his protests aside. The woman did not move.

"Madame," Hentzi cried almost hysterically. "You must not believe what his excellency tells you."

"Silence," the count cried angrily.

But Hentzi would not be stayed. At heart he was generous and in a dumb, hopeless fashion he had long cherished an affection for Pauline.

"He escaped," Hentzi continued, "We have just learned that they did not capture him. Already he is on a fast war ship of his country far from fear of pursuit."

It was as though a miracle had happened.

The color came again into Pauline's cheeks and the drooping, broken figure grew tall, erect and commanding.

"So you lied to me, Michael," she said slowly. "You were ashamed to admit that he had beaten you. But I should not have lost my faith in him so easily." She turned to Hentzi. "Thank you my friend. You have made me happy."

"Silence," the count cried. "Prepare yourself."

"You cannot hurt me now, Michael," she laughed. Hentzi thought she looked like a young girl, splendid and triumphant with the wine of youth. "At most you can take my life. As I can never have him whom I love I do not mind. Perhaps I am a little grateful to you. Why does your hand tremble, Michael?"

She held herself at this last moment with a brave insolence. Her head was carried high and the count knew she was laughing at him for having failed. He knew that her words were not idly spoken when she said she would die happy because her lover had escaped.

She stood there flouting him, jeering at him, this woman through whose actions his own safety was imperilled, the woman whose fascination had so long enthralled him. And he realized that although it would be his hands which would strike her to the dust yet she would be the victor.

Untrembling she looked into the black mouth of the revolver.

"Why do your hands shake?" she repeated. "Are you afraid he will come back and rescue me?"

Hentzi covered his eyes as the spurt of flame jumped at her. It was his shriek which rang out. Pauline met her death, triumphant, smiling, unafraid.