The Destroyer: A Tale of International Intrigue

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

She stepped first to the inner door and glanced at her father. He was sleeping peacefully. Then she followed Pachmann down the stair. At the door of her room he paused.

"By the way, Miss Vard," he said, still leering, "it is useless for you to fatigue yourself by endeavouring to break this door. It is strengthened on the outside by a sheet of steel—behold." He swung the door for her to see, then held it open for her. "I will have your dinner sent in to you," he added, and Kasia heard the bolts shot into place again.

Half an hour later, a bearded giant in livery brought in a tray containing a very appetizing meal, set it on the table, and retired. Kasia realised suddenly that she was very hungry, for she had had nothing to eat since breakfast. There was certainly nothing to be gained by starving herself—that, she told herself with a shiver, might come later!—so she washed hands and face at the basin in the bathroom, straightened her hair, and at last sat down to the meal with a calmness which surprised even herself. She ate deliberately and well, and when, at last, she pushed her cup away, it was with a sense of renewed strength and courage.

Once more she examined the room minutely, but there was no exit save by the steel-lined door. The windows remained, but they opened into that well-like court, with walls surmounted by bristling iron. Yet she was strong and agile; perhaps ... perhaps....

She snapped out the light, went to the open window and peered out. It was very dark in the shadow of those walls, but she remembered precisely how it looked; she remembered the door opening into the basement, just beneath the window. If it should, by any chance, be unlocked. But that was foolish to expect. Perhaps it would be possible to twist a rope from the bed-clothes and throw it up over the chevaux-de-frise; but even then there would be a long hand-over-hand climb to accomplish; and the barbed and pointed spikes had looked very formidable. In any event, she had the whole night before her; she must not act hastily; she must wait and watch; perhaps some other means would present itself; perhaps Dan....

And then the pain of recollection stabbed through her. Dan could do nothing; Dan was to be himself entrapped; and yet, how could that be? Perhaps Pachmann was lying—and yet he had not seemed to be lying. He had spoken confidently, triumphantly, gloatingly.

She sat erect, listening, then stole to the door and placed one ear against it. There were steps in the hall outside, steps which passed, which mounted the stair....

Perhaps that was Dan; yes, it must be after seven o'clock....

She forced herself to sit again at the window, but her hands were trembling. She stared out into the shadows of the little court and tried to think. But thinking was so difficult; there was a dull ache at the back of her eyes, and her throat felt dry and swollen. One thought ran through her mind, over and over: Dan must not be sacrificed, Dan must not suffer; even if Germany must triumph....

Then, suddenly, from overhead, came the sound of a sharp scuffle and a heavy fall. She fancied she could hear voices raised in anger. The slam of a door echoed through the house. A moment later came a series of savage blows, of rending crashes, as though the house itself was being torn to pieces;—and then silence.