Domiloff, already stealing to the furthermost corner of the room, which was a large one, extinguished the solitary lamp and plunged the whole place into comparative darkness. Ruttens paused a few yards from the threshold and peered around him.
“Is the Duke of Reist here?” he asked.
Nicholas struck a match and lit a solitary candle. Its feeble flame did little more than reveal his own pale face.
“Here I am, Colonel Ruttens. What do you want with me?”
Colonel Ruttens saluted.
“With you—nothing, Duke,” he answered. “Nothing, save your help, that is, in arresting a miscreant.”
“Who is he?” Reist asked.
“The Baron Domiloff.”
“He is a Russian subject,” Reist said, slowly.
“I have a warrant for his arrest signed by the King,” Ruttens answered. “Russian or no Russian he has been guilty of inciting to treason, of conspiring to bring a regiment of Cossacks into the city, and of using firearms in the street. Apart from which his very presence in the city is an offence, as he was banished by the King some time ago.”