“It was Brand!” Ughtred exclaimed. “Brand in the uniform of the Theos Guards. Is the man mad?”
“I do not think that it was Brand at all,” Reist answered, fiercely. “It is a plot of that accursed Russian. Way, good people, way!”
But the people, good-natured though they were, were wedged too thickly to let them pass. At last in a rush they were almost unhorsed. A direct progress to the palace was impossible. Reist turned up a side street.
“We will go to my house,” he said. “It will take us some time this way, but we shall never succeed in reaching the palace.”
The panel slid back behind them, and closed with a spring. From some place upon the wall invisible to him the Countess took a small silver lamp, and carefully lit it. Then holding it high over her head she turned towards Brand.
“You must follow me closely,” she said. “The way is narrow, and there are steps. Listen!”
They both stood for a moment with bated breath. In the room behind was tumult. There were angry voices, the ringing of bells, bewildered exclamations.
“It is my friend, Domiloff,” Brand whispered. “I am afraid that he has lost his temper. I might at least have left a note.”
She motioned him to follow her.