"Give me ten minutes, ten minutes only, in the next apartment," gasped Ravenna.

"For what purpose?"

"To--pray."

"I fail to see the use," responded Zabern dryly. "Heavens! Nikita, how strangely const.i.tuted these churchmen must be to think that a life of guilt may be atoned for by ten minutes of prayer."

"As you yourself hope for mercy at the last day, I beseech you to grant me ten minutes--five, then--in the next room."

Zabern laid the steel and phial upon the table.

"You may have ten minutes' grace, but you will do your praying here."

"That apartment is an oratory," pleaded Ravenna.

"Let him have his wish, marshal," said Gabor.

"And see him escape us?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Nikita fiercely.

"I cannot escape. There is no exit from the oratory, secret or open, save by that door. The window is fifty feet from the ground."

Zabern, suspecting that Ravenna was trying to effect his escape, approached the chamber in question, and found it to be an oblong apartment, twenty feet by ten, fitted up as an oratory, and hung with sacred pictures. At the far end, through a cas.e.m.e.nt of stained gla.s.s, arrowy beams of tender silvery moonlight slanted upon an altar, surmounted by an ivory crucifix with waxen tapers burning before it.

There was an air of solemnity in the place which exercised an influence even upon the stern mind of Zabern.

"Take your ten minutes," he exclaimed, pointing within, "but seek not to escape, for my eye shall be on you the while."

Ravenna rose from his seat; in rising he purposely stumbled and fell, and while so doing he contrived to secure possession of the letter lying beneath the table, and to secrete it within the folds of his ca.s.sock. Then with slow and faltering step he moved into the oratory, and taking out his rosary, he knelt with bowed head before the altar.

Zabern, standing without, kept the door slightly open in order that he might not lose sight of Ravenna's movements.

Gabor the trooper here put a very pertinent question.

"Marshal, since the Pope and his cardinals know the princess's secret, what do we gain by killing the archbishop?"

"We stop his mouth from proclaiming the secret to-morrow," replied Zabern.

"True. But afterwards--?"

"Afterwards, my good Gabor, no one shall be able to say that our princess is not Natalie Lilieska. Was the real Natalie marked with a mole upon her right shoulder? A friendly physician can soon produce that disfigurement for us upon the fair skin of our princess."

Nikita laughed aloud.

"Is there any one living who can defeat the marshal?" he cried.

"There is one here who will make the attempt," said a voice.

At this the trio stared curiously at one another, for the words came from the oratory, and had plainly been uttered by none other than the cardinal. Recovering from his momentary surprise, Zabern, with sudden misgiving at his heart, flung wide the door.

"Marshal Zabern," said the voice of Ravenna, "as you value the throne of the princess, come not one step farther. Mark well what is in my hand."

The window of the oratory, which before had been shut, was now wide open, and the moonlight fell upon the lofty figure and pale face of the cardinal, who was standing erect on one side of the altar. In his right hand he held a dove, to the neck of which a letter was attached.

The sight kept the three men dumb and motionless, for they instantly divined that the bird was a carrier-pigeon.

Ravenna's Italian guile had been more than a match for Zabern's subtlety. His object in kneeling before the altar had not been to pray, but to release the dove which had been attached to it by a silken thread--a dove purposely kept for emergencies. What captain of the guard on arresting the archbishop would be so stern-natured as to refuse his prisoner a few minutes' prayer in his private oratory?

Ravenna, on releasing the dove, had affixed the letter to its neck, performing the feat so guardedly, that though he had been watched, now by Zabern, and now by Nikita, his movements had not given rise to suspicion.

"Listen," cried Ravenna, raising his left hand warningly. "If you enter I quit my hold of the dove. You observe the letter. Let me tell you what it contains."

"Say on," returned Zabern with affected indifference. "Your ten minutes have not yet expired."

"This evening," began the cardinal, "and just prior to your arrival I penned a letter intended for the Czar's perusal. That letter now hangs from this dove's neck. It contains three statements. Firstly, that the Princess of Czernova is not Natalie Lilieska; secondly, that the Czernovese Charter is a forgery from the hand of Katina Ludovska; thirdly, that the Convent of the Transfiguration contains ample evidence of a conspiracy for the emanc.i.p.ation of Poland. Each of these facts, singly, if known to the Czar, would be sufficient to hurl the princess from her throne. If this dove should fly forth it would be in my nephew's house at Zamoska within thirty minutes; an hour more, and Redwitz would be in the camp of the Czar. Thus, then, do I make my terms. Approach to do me hurt, and I release the dove. Retire from the palace, give me my life, and I swear by all that I hold holy to refrain from endangering the throne of the princess. It is within your power to murder me, but the murder will be dearly purchased, for it will bring utter ruin upon Czernova."

"Idle vaunting!" said Zabern. "All know that the carrier-pigeon flieth not in the dark."

"This dove has ere now found its way to Zamoska by moonlight."

That the cardinal spoke truth when he declared that the letter contained the weighty secrets Zabern did not doubt. Therefore to advance with intent to slay would be fatal to the interests of the princess; and yet to retire, leaving Ravenna to his own devices would be equally fatal, for Zabern knew full well that the cardinal's most solemn oath was not to be trusted. So soon as the trio should withdraw, so soon as Ravenna should be released from the fear of their presence, he would laugh at their simplicity, and would carry out his evil work against the princess, ay, and with more determination than ever, embittered as he would be by the attempt made upon his life. It was a terrible dilemma.

The trio stood upon the threshold of the oratory, immovable, irresolute, silent, gazing at the cardinal, who in turn kept his eyes fixed upon them like a prisoner waiting for the verdict of life or death.

"No terms with a Jesuit," muttered Zabern under his breath. "Nikita, you are the best shot. Draw your pistol, and shoot, not the cardinal, but the dove."

As Zabern spoke he moved slightly to one side, in order to screen the movements of his henchman.

Directly afterwards a report rang out, startlingly loud in that small chamber. It was accompanied by a sharp cry of anguish from the cardinal, and by a swift forward rush on the part of his foes, each eager to pounce upon the fallen bird.

But, by a strange mischance, Nikita, who was considered to be second only to Katina herself in the handling of the pistol, had somehow failed to hit a conspicuous object seventeen feet away. The bullet had penetrated the wrist of the cardinal, whose hand had involuntarily relaxed its hold, with the result that the startled dove was now flying forth through the open cas.e.m.e.nt.

With the air of one mad, Zabern pulled Nikita towards the window, and, hurling Ravenna aside, he thrust his own pistol into the trooper's hand.

"Shoot, Nikita, shoot in G.o.d's name," he cried, pointing to the dove, whose white form was clearly defined against the dark blue sky. "The fate of all Czernova rests on your aim."

The bird, as if doubtful what direction to take, was moving slowly round in a series of spirals and rising higher and higher each moment.

Nikita pointed his weapon, raising it gradually with the ascent of the dove, till, deeming himself certain of his aim, he drew the trigger. A second shot rang out. Both men looked, expecting the instant fall of the dove, but the winged messenger remained unhurt, and apparently having chosen its route, flew off in a straight line, and immediately disappeared over the tree-tops.

"By heaven, you've missed again!" cried Zabern, his dismay being lost for the moment in wonder that Nikita's hand should have so strangely lost its cunning.

"G.o.d's curse is on me to-night," said Nikita, flinging the pistol from him. "Who," he added, with a touch of Slavonic superst.i.tion, "who can shoot a dove, symbol of the Holy Ghost?"

"Symbol of the holy devil!" cried Zabern. "Where's the cardinal?"

In his eagerness to mark the effect of Nikita's second shot Gabor had likewise pressed forward to the cas.e.m.e.nt, forgetful of Ravenna, who, taking advantage of this negligence, picked himself up from the corner where Zabern had flung him, and ran from the oratory into the library. The wondering police next day traced his course over the carpet by the blood-drops that fell from his shattered wrist.

But in a moment more the avenging Zabern was after him, his sabre gleaming in his hand.

The cardinal had reached the locked door of the library: his unwounded hand had turned the key; his fingers were already upon the door-handle when Zabern, with a laugh of horrid glee, clutched him by the collar of his ca.s.sock with the same hand that held the sabre, and pulled him backward upon his knees.

The agony of the situation forced from Ravenna a yell that curdled the blood of the treacherous steward who kept watch at the foot of the staircase, but it had no effect upon Zabern.