The Duchess was relaxed now, making no attempt to resist him. Her face had gone hard and the skin was stretched tightly across her cheekbones.
She said nothing as he bound her feet and gagged her. But the venom in her eyes made him pause. This woman was not soft, he saw, and he knew he had made an enemy who would be ruthless. He did not look back as he left the room but he could feel her gaze following him—hating him, as only a frustrated woman can hate!
IV
He glanced up at the huge square frame of the palace, crouched like a great machine waiting to devour him. There was something about the building that was subtle, mysterious, luring. Engraved in deep convex letters above the door was the motto of the Imperator: THE WORLD BELONGS TO THE STRONG. Now for the first time, Ostby thought, he was to meet that controversial figure face to face.
There was no formal greeting of the entering guests. Two liveried servants stood at either side of the entrance, eyeing, politely but carefully, each entrant. They did not stop Ostby and he passed through the doorway. He deposited his outer wrap with still other servants inside, and mingled unobtrusively with the guests in the wide entrance hall.
For a half-hour Ostby loitered about the edge of the thickening crowd, wearing an expression of abstract concentration that discouraged conversation. At the end of that time the Imperator had not appeared. Ostby decided to wait no longer.
Walking casually down a long corridor that led into the palace he began his search for the man he wanted. The occasional servants he met asked no questions. They merely nodded politely and went about their duties.
When he came to a long circular stairway he walked quickly up. He knew that the closer he came to his goal the greater would be the risk. But this was not the time for surreptitious conniving. Only action would produce results now.
A door opened suddenly behind him and a voice said, "Keep walking."