Ludovics glared madly at Posadowski. Twisting, with an agility begotten by alcoholic stimulants, out of the grasp of Posnovitch, he made a dash for the table, and, seizing the brandy bottle, would have dashed it against the head of the crown prince if Rudolph had not stayed his murderous hand at the last moment.
“We leave him to you,” said the lodge-keeper, stolidly, as he placed the struggling Ludovics in the grip of Posnovitch again. “Don’t let him play you the same trick twice.”
With Posadowski on one side of him and Rudolph on the other side, Prince Carlo left the lodge and turned his weary steps toward the gloomy house at the end of the driveway. The rain no longer fell, but the night was black and oppressive, and now and again the lightning gleamed fitfully across the distant waters of the sound. There was no invigoration in the atmosphere. The storm had left in its trail a moisture that seemed to take uncanny pleasure in emphasizing the heat. But, in spite of all this, Prince Carlo felt again that grewsome sensation of cold that had affected his nerves in the rooms they had just left. As the trio mounted the broad steps that led to the piazza, beneath which gloomy shadows lurked, this feeling of chilliness increased, and it was only by a strong effort of will that he saved himself from trembling beneath the grasp of his conductors.
Three men met them at the main entrance. “Silence!” cried Posadowski to the Rexanians in the hall-way. “Two of you remain here. We will go upstairs at once.”
One of the conspirators stalked up the broad staircase in front of the prince and his companions. A lamp gleamed dimly at the landing, and, grasping it as he turned into the upper hall-way, their conductor led them through a doorway into a large, gloomy sleeping-room at the rear of the house. The apartment exhibited signs of long disuse, disguised in part by a hasty attempt to make it inhabitable. The old-fashioned bed was made up with linen furnished by the lodge-keeper. The faded hangings in front of the windows had been pulled back to conceal their tattered condition, and, had it not been for the damp and heavy atmosphere of the room, it would have presented many welcome features to a very weary man.
“Here we leave you, Prince Carlo,” remarked Posadowski, in a low voice. “If our hospitality is lacking in luxuries, believe me, it is not our fault. I assure you it is my sincere hope that you will rest well; for there are weighty matters to be decided between us to-morrow. Good-night, your royal highness; good-night.”
Prince Carlo bent his head slightly in recognition of the arch-conspirator’s last words, and on the instant found himself alone. The sound of a closing door and of a key turned in the old-fashioned lock echoed drearily through the house as the prince stepped hurriedly to one of the windows and attempted to raise it to air the room. The window was locked. What it meant to be a prisoner broke darkly upon the young man’s mind, and he threw himself in despair upon the bed and moaned in utter misery.