“Well,” assented Kearns, “I will allow you to make your promise with the qualification: Except in case of possible life or death. I have, then, your word?”
“Have it your own way, since you insist,” exclaimed Mortimer. “Yes; you have my word that I will not cross the threshold of this room within the next two hours, unless it is a question of possible life or death.”
“Now I can proceed upon my errand with a mind at ease,” said Kearns, with a satisfied air. “Oh, by the way, I had almost forgotten! I have a message from the King for Lord Ashley.”
As he spoke, he walked to the door of communication, pushed aside the heavy portiere, opened the door, threw aside the corresponding portiere on the other side and passed into the main room of the Chancellerie.
A moment later he returned, with preoccupied air.
“Nobody there!” he exclaimed. “It’s a holiday and everybody has taken advantage of it. Well, I’m off to Fairoaks now. Within two hours I expect I shall be back and—so will the King!” With these words he hurried from the room and away.
After Kearns’s departure, Mortimer strolled to the window and looked over the park. Then he stretched himself out comfortably with a book and read. He had been reading but a very short time, when voices came to him from the adjoining main room of the Chancellerie. An instant later he sprang to his feet, a flood of color flushing his face. In returning from the Chancellerie to his bureau, Mr. Kearns had failed fully to close the door of communication and now only the two portieres intervened between the rooms. Do what he would, Mortimer could not but hear.
More distinctly came the voices to him, as the minutes passed. He stood with strained features and eyes ablaze. Then his hand flew to his sword-hilt and he strode forward. Two steps he took and abruptly halted.
Merciful God! Why was he thus chained here? Why had he pledged his word, except under stress of possible life or death, not to cross the threshold of this room?