“Raimund!” almost groaned Hamilton, as he rushed out of the theatre towards the lodgings, which he knew were in one of the adjoining streets.
The door at one side of the entrance-gate was slightly ajar, it had probably been left so by some servants who had stolen off to the masquerade, and did not wish to announce their return by ringing the bell. Raimund’s rooms were on the ground floor, a couple of steps led to them. Hamilton ascended—the door was open—he entered a narrow passage, and stood opposite the entrance to one of the chambers, knocked first gently, then loudly; shook the door; no sound reached him; at length he moved towards another door and called out, “Hildegarde, for heaven’s sake, if you are here, answer me?” He thought now he heard some one moving in the room.
“Let me in—open the door,” he cried, pushing with all his strength against it.
“Wait a moment,” said a voice which he with difficulty recognised as Hildegarde’s, “wait—I must—take the key from——”
“Heaven and earth, Hildegarde! How can you be so calm, when you know how anxious we must be about you! Are you alone?”
“No—yes,” she answered, quite close to the door.
“Count Raimund, you have no right to make a prisoner of your cousin. Open the door directly,” cried Hamilton, shaking it until the hinges rattled.
He heard at length the key placed, with a trembling hand, in the lock—it turned and Hildegarde stood before him. The hood of her capuchin was thrown back, and her features, deadly pale and rigid in an expression of horror, met his view. She pointed silently towards a figure lying on the ground, which, when Hamilton approached, he found to be the corpse of her cousin! He must have shot himself through the mouth, for the upper part of his head, hair, and brain were scattered in frightful bloody masses around. A more hideous object could hardly be imagined; he turned away, and seizing Hildegarde’s hand, drew her out of the room, while he whispered, “What a dreadful scene for you to have witnessed!”
Scarcely were they in the street when, putting her hand to her head, she exclaimed, “My gloves—mask—handkerchief, are in his room—is it of any consequence?”
“Of the greatest,” cried Hamilton. “If your name be on the handkerchief, it may lead to most unpleasant inquiries. Wait here. I must return to the room.”