"There's a good assortment of cowardice in that little body of his. He has too many good things in this life to wish to leave it, I suppose, for he could scarcely make enough show of fight to make it plausible for Clara to rush in between us, throw herself on her knees, and, with a clever bit of acting, pray that there should be no bloodshed. I blustered and raged, and at length consented to spare his wee chip of a life; but I forced him to swallow an opiate that made him as drunk as a fool, and will keep him quiet for a dozen hours or more. Then I bound and gagged him to make doubly sure, and locked him up in an underground cellar. We can keep him there a close prisoner for a month if need be and not a soul will be the wiser, unless——"
"Unless what?" I cried.
"Unless the beloved Clara should choose to say what she knows."
"Do you suspect her?"
"I don't know what she means, or what she wants. She is torn between her desire to help me and to hurt you; and which will win in the end I can't say. She has done this for me, but, having done it, she is singular enough to turn round and try to hit at you in some other direction. I can't answer for her; and I thought it best to tell you so."
"If you think she means to tell of his whereabouts, we'll send out to-night at once and change it."
"I can't think that, because it would be treachery to me. In fact, I'm sure she won't. She knows me pretty well by this time, and I swore to her that if she did anything of the kind I'd wreak a bitter vengeance on her and the duke. I'll do it too," he growled, with a deep guttural oath.
"But what do you fear, then?"
"She is back to-night in Munich for some object; and as she is deep in with the Ostenburg lot, trusted by them, too—it is through her that most things have leaked to me—we may look for her to fend off suspicion from herself for this decoy work by striking at you in some other way. So you know what to expect."
"But if she is helping you, why should she turn against me?" I said, perplexed.