Pia went about his work as usual, and Edward mooned rather unhappily about the big room. To the duke this enforced imprisonment was no hardship, and he would sit in the little window-seat watching Galva as she flitted gracefully here and there in the performance of her tasks. No news came to them from the Palace, and as it grew dusk and the lights of Corbo shone in the sky, Edward could stand the inactivity no longer, but disguising his appearance as well as might be, made his way through the Sebastin Park down to the town, choosing the streets that lay near the cathedral in his search for information.
There was, however, nothing to be learnt from the loungers who were taking their coffee and cognac at the little tables of the cafés, and Edward was soon anxious to get back to the cosy comfort of the gardener's cottage. As the chimes in the belfry above him told the hour of nine he rose from the corner of the obscure brasserie where he had been taking his refreshment, and went out into the Cathedral Square.
The air was chilly, and buttoning his coat closely round him he strode out briskly in the direction of the park. He had left the town and entered the Sebastin Gates when he was aware of something unusual in the air. From the direction of the boulevards came the subdued murmur of voices, that intense mumble that speaks of popular excitement. Above the confused sound Edward could make out the shouts of boys crying their papers, and he remembered that it was at nine o'clock that the Imparcial made its appearance.
For a moment he stood in indecision. To return to the town meant the loss of half an hour—and surely that rustle of excitement denoted that King Enrico was dead or dying. What a fool he had been to leave the cottage. He might have thought that the absence of news during the day was but the lull before the end, and now here he was out of the game, the success of which he had been playing so hard for.
Pressing his hat firmly on his head, he set off running across the park. After all, he might have been mistaken in imagining that the death had occurred. Surely he would have heard the gun. He knew that the custom was to—
Boom—m—m——
The sound echoed and reverberated over the woods and the open spaces round him. Edward slackened his pace, and swore softly to himself. He had come through the secret entrance to the grounds, and now paused a moment and took his bearings.
Then, mending his pace, he ran on, avoiding the cottage, and making direct for the door at the foot of the staircase.