“I presume Brussels is very much excited over Miss Garrison's disappearance,” said he to the livid-faced prince.
“Brussels is horrified, but she will rejoice tomorrow. Thank God, we have not toiled in vain.”
“Sit down. May I inquire for the health of Mrs. Garrison?” The four newcomers, more or less ill at ease, sat down with Lord Bob, the two Americans standing. Quentin leaned against the big post at the foot of the steps, his face the picture of gloomy defiance.
“I am not her physician, sir.”
“Hoity-toity! She is quite well, then, I may reasonably infer. Can you tell me whether she is in Brussels?”
“She will be in Luxemburg in the morning, if my message reaches her to-night. But we are not here for the purpose of bandying words with you, sir. This house must be searched, whether you like it or not. Captain, call in your men,” cried the prince, his rage getting the better of him.
“You will find that the door is barred, captain,” said Saxondale, easily. The expression that came into the faces of the four men was one not soon to be forgotten. For a full minute there was absolute silence.
“Do you mean that we are prisoners?” demanded Ugo, his teeth showing, but not in a smile.
“Not at all. The door has a habit of locking itself.”
“I command you to open that door!” cried the prince, looking about him like a trapped rat. He snarled with rage when he saw the smile on Quentin's face. Dickey's sudden chuckle threw dismay into the ranks of the confident besiegers.