It was not a pleasant sight. The Admiral's face was distorted with rage, his lips curled savagely away from his teeth, his eyes were only half-closed, his hands were clenched—and with it all, he was breathing slowly and regularly, as though asleep.
"He isn't dead, anyway," said Dan, and rubbed his eyes, for strange clouds floated before them. "And he doesn't seem to be hurt," he added, looking again. "I wonder what happened to him—he isn't a pretty sight, is he? And where's your father?"
"He's not here," said Kasia, and following her gesture, Dan saw that the bed was empty.
Together they hastened back to the hall and looked into the other rooms. They were all empty.
"Well, it beats me!" said Dan, at last, and stared down into the girl's frightened face. "Your father isn't here, that's sure. It looks like he either gave Pachmann his quietus with a solar plexus, or else Pachmann just fell over on his face and went to sleep. Anyway, your father seems to have escaped. But where's the Prince? Did they elope together?"
"Why didn't father stop and look for me?" demanded Kasia.
And then a light broke over Dan's face.
"He did—and found you gone. Don't you see," he went on, excitedly, "it must have been while we were fussing with that thick-headed cop. And probably, when he didn't find you, he hurried on home...."
But Kasia had already started for the stairs.
Dan paused for a last look at the recumbent figure. Suppose the man should die—suppose something had happened to the Prince—there would be the German Empire to be reckoned with, and the reckoning would be a serious one—serious for himself, for Kasia, above all for Vard! Very thoughtfully he turned away, followed Kasia down the stair, passed along the hall and through the open door. On the top step he paused and looked up and down the street. The police were not yet in sight.