‘Yes. I will do what you ask of me.’
The answers came in a hard, contemptuous voice, for Greifenstein was almost choking with rage at being thus forced to receive and protect a man whom he both despised and hated. But Rieseneck did not expect any very cordial welcome, and his expression did not vary. ‘I thank you,’ he answered. ‘It is the only favour I ever asked of you, and I give you my word it shall be the last.’
Greifenstein’s piercing eyes gleamed dangerously, and for an instant the anger that burned in him glowed visibly in his face.
‘Your—’ He would have said ‘your word,’ throwing into the two syllables all the contempt he felt, for one whose word had been so broken. But he checked himself gallantly. In spite of all, Rieseneck was his guest and had come to him for protection, and he would not insult him. ‘You shall be safe to-morrow night,’ he said, controlling his tongue.
But Rieseneck had heard the first word, and knew what should have followed it. He turned a little pale, bronzed though he was, and he let his hand rest upon the back of a chair beside him.
‘I will not trouble you further,’ he said. ‘If you will show me a place where I can sleep, I will be ready in the morning.’
‘No,’ answered Greifenstein. ‘That will not do. The servants know that a visitor is in the house. They will expect to see you at dinner. Besides, you are probably hungry.’
Perhaps he regretted having shown his brother, even by the suggestion of a phrase, what was really in his heart, and the feeling of the ancient guest-right made him relent a little.
‘Sit down,’ he added, as Rieseneck seemed to hesitate. ‘It will be necessary that you dine with us and meet my wife. We must not excite suspicion.’
‘You are married then?’ said Rieseneck. It was more like a thoughtful reflexion than a question. Though he had written to his brother more than once, the latter’s answers when he vouchsafed any, had been curt and businesslike in the extreme.