The Prince was the first to recover himself.
"It is Leatherface," he whispered, "come to give me warning."
He rose and would have gone to the window, but Clémence van Rycke caught him by the arm and clung convulsively to him. "Not you, Monseigneur," she entreated, "not you--it might be a traitor."
Then the tapping was repeated and Laurence went cautiously up to the window, and after an instant's hesitation, he suddenly drew the curtains aside with a resolute gesture. Then he unfastened the tall casement and threw it open.
The night was of an inky blackness, and as the lattice flew open a gust of wind and heavy driving rain nearly extinguished the light of the candle, but in the framework of the window a man's head and shoulders detached themselves from out the gloom. The head and shoulders were closely enveloped in a hood and cape, and the face was hidden by a mask, and all were dripping with wet.
"Leatherface!" murmured the Prince, and Clémence van Rycke gave a sigh of relief.
"There is a light in the window above," whispered the man with the mask, "and a shadow has crossed behind the windows of the corridor. Someone is astir overhead--and the civic business at the Town House is drawing to an end."
"We have nearly finished," murmured the Prince in reply. "And I'll come away at once. Is the street clear?"
"Quite--and will be for another ten minutes till the night-watchman comes round. I saw him just now, he is very drunk and might make trouble."
"I come, friend," rejoined the Prince, "and as soon as may be."