“Enough, enough! We mustn’t quarrel, Rupert. Are Detchard and Bersonin at their posts?”
“They are, sir.”
“I need you no more.”
“Nay, I’m not oppressed with fatigue,” said Rupert.
“Pray, sir, leave us,” said Michael, more impatiently. “In ten minutes the drawbridge will be drawn back, and I presume you have no wish to swim to your bed.”
Rupert’s figure disappeared. I heard the door open and shut again. Michael and Antoinette de Mauban were left together. To my chagrin, the duke laid his hand on the window and closed it. He stood talking to Antoinette for a moment or two. She shook her head, and he turned impatiently away. She left the window. The door sounded again, and Black Michael closed the shutters.
“De Gautet, De Gautet, man!” sounded from the drawbridge. “Unless you want a bath before your bed, come along!”
It was Rupert’s voice, coming from the end of the drawbridge. A moment later he and De Gautet stepped out on the bridge. Rupert’s arm was through De Gautet’s, and in the middle of the bridge he detained his companion and leant over. I dropped behind the shelter of “Jacob’s Ladder.”
Then Master Rupert had a little sport. He took from De Gautet a bottle which he carried, and put it to his lips.
“Hardly a drop!” he cried discontentedly, and flung it in the moat.