‘Then I’ll tell the whole story,’ the lady went on, in an angry rush of words. ‘I did what I promised to do. I enticed him here, and you’ve got him safe in your vile cellar, poor little man, and you won’t give me a paltry thousand francs.’
‘You have already had your price.’ The words were Miss Spencer’s. They fell cold and calm on the night air.
‘I want another thousand.’
‘I haven’t it.’
‘Then we’ll see.’
Prince Aribert heard a rustle of flying skirts; then another movement—a door banged, and the beam of light through the aperture of the window suddenly disappeared. He pushed the window wide open. The room was in darkness, and apparently empty.
‘Now for that lantern of yours,’ he said eagerly to Theodore Racksole, after he had translated to him the conversation of the two women, Racksole produced the dark lantern from the capacious pocket of his dust coat, and lighted it. The ray flashed about the ground.
‘What is it?’ exclaimed Prince Aribert with a swift cry, pointing to the ground. The lantern threw its light on a perpendicular grating at their feet, through which could be discerned a cellar. They both knelt down, and peered into the subterranean chamber. On a broken chair a young man sat listlessly with closed eyes, his head leaning heavily forward on his chest.
In the feeble light of the lantern he had the livid and ghastly appearance of a corpse.
‘Who can it be?’ said Racksole.