“Between the mattresses and the slats of my bed you will find a gun in a case. The certificates are in the barrels.” His countenance did not express any particular happiness; the lines about his mouth were sharper than usual.
“The devil!” cried the Colonel; “if only I had known that!” He laughed. “Well, I'll leave you. Six o'clock—what's this?” as he stooped and picked up Maurice's cast-off hussar jacket.
“I was about to use it as a door mat,” said Maurice, who was in a nasty humor. That Fitzgerald had surrendered did not irritate him half so much as the thought that he was the real puppet. His hands were tied, he could not act, and he was one that loved his share in games.
The Colonel reddened under his tan. “No; I'll not lose my temper, though this is cause enough. Curse me, but you lack courtesy. This is my uniform, and whatever it may be to you it is sacred to me. You were not forced into it; you were not compelled to wear it. What would you do if a man wore your uniform and flung it around in this manner?”
“I'd knock him down,” Maurice admitted. “I apologize, Colonel; it was not manly. But you must make allowances; my good nature has suffered a severe strain. I'll get into my own clothes to-morrow if you will have a servant sew on some buttons and mend the collar. By the way, who is eating three meals a day in the east corridor on the third floor?”
Their glances fenced. The Colonel rubbed his mustache.
“I like you,” he said; “hang me if I don't. But as well as I like you, I would not give a denier for your life if you were found in that self-same corridor. The sentinel has orders to shoot; but don't let that disturb you; you will know sooner or later. It is better to wait than be shot. A horse will be saddled at six. You will find it in the court. The countersigns are Weixel and Arnoldt. Good luck to you.”
“The same to you,” rejoined Maurice, “only worse.”
The Colonel's departure was followed by a period of temporary speechlessness. Maurice smoked several “Khedives,” while Fitzgerald emptied two or three pipe-bowls.
“You seem to be in bad odor, Maurice,” the latter ventured.