Hindwood felt himself flung violently back. The wall turned inwards. There was a report—then silence.
IV
The Prince had pitched forward with his head in Santa's lap. His hands were clawing at her gown. As he struggled, he stiffened and slid back, till he lay across her feet, grinning up at her. The Captain, his revolver still smoking in his hand, threw himself to his knees, feeling for his victim's heart. He spoke dully.
“The dream of Monarchy is ended.”
The quietness was broken by a distant clamor. Momentarily it gathered volume and drew nearer.
Throughout the Palace, which had seemed so wrapt in sleep, feet were running. From the Palace-yard rose the clatter of arms and the impatience of orders being shouted. On the door of the chamber an importunate tapping had commenced.
Hindwood looked up in the midst of freeing Santa. “They'll beat in the panels. Find out what they want.”
The Captain dragged himself to the door which he did not dare to open. A rapid exchange of Hungarian followed. As Santa tottered to her feet with the last cord severed, the Captain tiptoed back.
“Escape by the passage. The shot was heard. They insist on seeing Prince Rogovich.”
“To be butchered in the streets! I guess not.” Hindwood shook his head. “Escape does not lie in that direction. They shall see him. In ten minutes. At the window. Tell them.”