“Go then,” he exclaimed cordially, “and forgive me, Cousin Fritz, for my impertinence. Hereafter I shall trust you fully. As for me, I think it best that I should return to your rooms. Do you understand me?”
“I think I do, Herr Bennett,” answered the dwarf, laughing mockingly as he disappeared in the darkness.
The American turned and groped his way toward the room he had just left. He opened the heavy door softly. The candles in the grim apartment were still lighted, but heavy shadows danced blackly here and there as the flames wavered in the draught. Bennett glanced around the apartment apprehensively. Suddenly from a distant corner two figures made toward him hurriedly. He realized instinctively that the count and baron had been plotting his destruction.
Closing the door behind him he leaned against it, and drawing his revolver from his hip pocket held the weapon in front of him. The flickering candle-light was reflected by the gleaming steel.
“Hold hard, my friends,” said Bennett coolly, “a step farther in my direction means a bullet for the man who makes it.”
CHAPTER VIII.
Bennett’s face was pale but smiling as he witnessed the dismay of his baffled foes. That his possession of a pistol at this crisis had saved his life he had not the slightest doubt. The count hated him because he had introduced poker into the kingdom; the baron, with the jealous eyes of a lover, saw in the American a possible rival for the favor of the princess. Furthermore, the courtiers realized, doubtless, that if they were captured in the company of the American their chance of winning pardon from Wilhelm, the successful usurper, would be slight.
All this passed through Bennett’s mind as he leaned against the great door and pointed his weapon first at the count and then at the baron, taking a mischievous pleasure in their not unnatural disquietude. Hardly a sound broke the stillness. A rat gnawed noisily somewhere in the woodwork. The asthmatic breathing of the deposed king could be heard, irregular and ominous.