"Stand ready, then, with the guns!" cried Peter Brutus. "It may be a trick, after all. Don't open that door down there, Spantz, until you know who is on the outside."

Then followed a long interval of dead silence.

"It's all right," came at last in the relieved, eager voice of Peter Brutus. "Clear the way, comrades. Give them room! By our Holy Father, this is a brave triumph. Ah!"

Heavy footsteps clogged into the room, accompanied by stertorous breathing and no small amount of grunting from masculine throats. Doors were closed, bolts shot, and then many voices let loose their flow of eager exclamations. Not one, but three or four languages were spoken by the excited, intense occupants of the outer room; King could, make nothing of what they said. Finally the sharp, incisive voice of William Spantz broke through the babble, commanding silence.

"Still unconscious," he said, when some measure of order was secured.

"Yes," grunted one of the men, evidently a newcomer. "Since we left the house above the ramparts. No need for gags or bonds, but we used them, just the same. Now that we are here, what is to be done?"

"We will have our instructions to-morrow. The Count is to inform us before nightfall where she is to be removed to. Next week she is to go to Schloss Marlanx." Brutus inserted a cruel, heartless laugh, and then added: "There she is to remain until he is quite ready to take her to new apartments--in town. Trust the master to dispose of her properly. He knows how to handle women by this time."

A woman, thought Truxton. The Countess! They had brought her here from Balak, after all. What a remorseless brute Marlanx must be to maltreat his beautiful wife as--Truxton did not complete the angry reflection.

Words from the other side of the door checked the train of thought.

"To my mind, she is more beautiful than his own wife," observed Anna Cromer. "She will be a fine morsel for the Count, who has even cast longing eyes on so homely a mortal as I."

"All women are alike to him," said Spantz sententiously. "I hope she is not to be left here for long. I don't like women about at a time like this. No offence, Madame Drovnask."

"She'll go to-morrow night, I'm sure," said Peter. "I told the Count we could not keep her here over the--over the 26th. You see, there is a bare possibility that none of us may ever come back after the bomb is hurled. See? We don't want a woman to die of starvation down here, in that event. I don't care what happens to the man in there. But the Count does not want this one to starve. Oh, no; not he."

"We must put her in the room with the American for the present. You are sure he will take her away before Sat.u.r.day? A woman's cries are most distressing." It was Spantz who spoke.

"I'll stop her crying," volunteered Anna Cromer harshly.

"I fancy you could, my dear," agreed Spantz. They all laughed.

"She's regaining her senses," exclaimed one of the men. "Stand back, every one. Give her air."

"Air?" cried Anna Cromer. "It's at a premium down here, Raoul."

Presently the door to King's room was thrown open. He had got to his feet and was standing in the centre of the room, his eyes blinking in the glare of light.

"Holloh!" cried Peter Brutus, "you up, eh? We've got a fair lady for you, my friend. Get back there, you dog! Keep in your corner."

Truxton faced the ugly crowd beyond the door for a moment and then fell back to the corner to watch the proceedings with wondering, pitying eyes.

"You are a fine bunch of human beings," he blurted out, savage with despair and rage. No one gave heed to the compliment.

A man with a lighted candle entered first, holding the light above his head. He was followed by two others, who supported the drooping, tottering figure of a woman.

"Let her sit there against the wall, Drago. Julius, fetch in more candles. She must not be left in the dark. _He_ says she is not to be frightened to death. Women are afraid of the dark--and strange dogs.

Let there be light," scoffed Peter Brutus, spitting toward King.

"I'll get you for that some day," grated the American, white with anger.

Peter hesitated, then spat again and laughed loudly.

"Enough!" commanded William Spantz. "We are not children." Turning to King he went on, a touch of kindness in his voice: "Cheer her if you can. She is one of your cla.s.s. Do not let the lights go out."

Raising his hands, he fairly drove the others from the doorway. An instant later, King and his miserable, half-conscious companion were alone, locked in together, the fitful light from the candle on the floor playing hide and seek in shadows he had not seen before during his age of imprisonment.

For a long time he stood in his corner, watching the figure huddled against the opposite wall. Her face was not plainly visible, her head having dropped forward until the chin nestled in the lace jabot at her throat. A ma.s.s of tangled hair fell across her eyes; her arms hung limply at her sides; small, modish riding hoots showed beneath the hem of her skin, forlorn in their irresoluteness. Her garments were sadly bedraggled; a pathetic breast rose and fell in choking sobs and gasps.

Suddenly he started forward, his eyes wide and staring. He had seen that grey riding habit before! He had seen the hair!

Two eager steps he took and then halted, half way. She had heard him and was raising her eyes, bewildered and wavering between dreamland and reality.

"Great Jehovah!" he gasped, unbelieving. "You? My G.o.d, is it you?"

He dropped to his knees before her, peering into her startled eyes. A look of abject terror crossed the tired, tear-stained face. She shrank away from him, shivering, whimpering like a cowed child.

"What is it? Where am I?" she moaned. "Oh, let me go! What have I done, that you should bring me here? Let me go, Mr. King! You are not so wicked as--"

"I? I bring you here?" he interrupted, aghast. Then he understood. Utter dismay filled his eyes. "You think that I have done this thing to you?

G.o.d above us! Look! I, too, am a prisoner here. I've been here for days, weeks, years. They are going to kill me after to-morrow. And you think that I have done this to you!"

"I don't know what--Oh, Mr. King, what does it all mean? Forgive me! I see now. You are bound--you are suffering--you are years older. I see now. But why is it? What have you done? What have I done?"

She was growing hysterical with terror.

"Don't shrink from me," he urged. "Try to calm yourself. Try to look upon me as a friend--as a possible saviour. Lie quiet, do, for a little while. Think it all out for yourself."

He knelt there before her while she sobbed out the last agony of alarm.

There were no tears in her eyes; racking sobs shook her slender body; every nerve was aquiver, he could see. Patiently he waited, never taking his firm, encouraging gaze from her face. She grew calmer, more rational. Then, with the utmost gentleness, he persuaded her to rise and walk about the little room with him.

"It will give you strength and courage," he urged. "Poor little girl!

Poor little girl!"

She looked up into his face, a new light coming into her eyes.

"Don't talk now," he said softly. "Take your time. Hold to my arm, please. There! In a little while you'll be able to tell me all about it--and then we'll set about to find a way to escape these devils. We'll laugh at 'em, after all."

For five or ten minutes he led her back and forth across the room, very tenderly. At first she was faint and uncertain; then, as her strength and wits came back to her, courage took the place of despair. She smiled wanly and asked him to sit down with her.

"A way to escape, you said," she murmured, as he dropped to her side.

"Where are we? What is it all about?"

"Not so loud," he cautioned. "I'll be perfectly candid with you. You'll have to be very, very brave. But wait. Perhaps it will be easier for you to tell me what has happened to you, so far as you know. I can throw light on the whole situation, I think. Tell me, please, in your own way and time. We're in a sorry mess, and it looks black, but, this much I can tell you: you are to be set free in a few days, unharmed. You may rest easy. That much is a.s.sured."

"And you?" she whispered, clutching his arm tightly, the swift thrill of relief dying almost as it was born. "What of you?"

"Oh, I'll get out all right," he affirmed with a confidence he did not feel. "I'm going to get you out of this or die in the attempt. Sh! Don't oppose me," he went on whimsically. "I've always wanted to be a hero, and here's my chance. Now tell me what happened to you."

Her piquant, ever-sprightly face had lost the arrogance that had troubled all his dreams of conquest. She was pale and shivering and so sorely distressed that he had it in his heart to clasp her in his arms as one might do in trying to soothe a frightened child. Her face grew cloudy with the effort to concentrate her thoughts; a piteous frown settled upon her brow.

"I'm not sure that I can recall everything. It is all so terrible--so unaccountable. It's like a dream that you try to remember and cannot.

Finding you here in this place is really the strangest part of it. I cannot believe that I am awake."