The night was overcast, dark, and inclined to be stormy, a cold, bleak, blusterous, northerly breeze was blowing off the lake and roaring through the branches of the leafless trees, and the look of the sky threatened rain; yet the wide, white carriage-drive loomed up ghostly through the darkness, and presently, when the eyes of the watchers grew accustomed to the gloom, they found that it would be easy for them to discern a mounted figure on the road at a distance of a hundred yards or so. They sheltered themselves under the lee of a giant elm, and set themselves patiently to await in silence the approach of their unsuspecting prey.
The minutes sped slowly away, until at length it seemed to the two watchers that they must have been in ambush for a full hour, yet neither Vasilovich nor any other person had put in an appearance. They began to compare notes in a low voice, and at length Mildmay determined to run the risk of striking a match for a moment to ascertain the time. This he did, von Schalckenberg assisting him to observe such precautions as should insure the tiny, momentary flame against being seen. Mildmay’s watch declared the hour to be a quarter to six, British time.
“Why, that makes it about ten minutes to eight, Russian time!” murmured the captain, as he blew out the vesta. “Do you think he has been detained, Professor? or is it possible that he is no longer residing here? He may be away on a visit somewhere, you know.”
“True, he may be; but I do not believe he is; he is not a sufficiently sociable man to render it at all likely that he is visiting, either in Saint Petersburg or elsewhere,” answered the professor. “Of course,” he continued, “the man may have been detained, as you suggest; indeed, that is probably the explanation of his non-appearance. Or he may be unwell—too unwell to leave his château. Those are the only two alternative explanations I can suggest to account for his non-appearance.”
“Well, what is to be done under the circumstances?” demanded Mildmay. “Is it any use to wait here any longer, think you?”
“No,” answered the professor, “I do not think it is; he is not likely to pass here now, as he has not done so already. I will go up to the castle and ascertain his whereabouts.”
“All right,” returned Mildmay, “I will go with you. It is scarcely safe for you to go alone. The fellow may—”
“Have no fear on my account, I beg,” interrupted von Schalckenberg. “I assure you it will be quite safe for me to go alone; more safe, indeed, than were two of us to go together, because in the latter case he might—assuming that he is in the castle—suspect something, while if I go alone he will suspect nothing.”
“Very well,” assented Mildmay, “let it be as you will. But I will, at all events, accompany you to the castle, and stand by, outside, to lend you a hand if needful.”
“You sailors are very masterful men,” observed the professor; “you must have your own way, I suppose. But be careful that you are not seen by anybody, as the suspicions of these Russians are easily aroused, and it would then, perhaps, be very awkward for us both. Shall we go at once?”