The man shook his head with a knowing smile. “We must seek him in this house,” he said. “We will make it as easy for you as we can, Fraulein—if you make it easy for us.”
As he spoke he produced a candle from his pocket, and encouraged the broken wick with his finger-nail.
“It will make it pleasanter for all,” said Desiree cheerfully, “if you will accept a candlestick.”
The man glanced at her. He was a heavy man, with little suspicious eyes set close together. He seemed to be concluding that she had outwitted him—that Sebastian was not in the house.
“Where are the cellar-stairs?” he asked. “I warn you, Fraulein, it is useless to conceal your father. We shall, of course, find him.”
Desiree pointed to the door next to that giving entry to the kitchen. It was bolted and locked. Desiree found the key for them. She not only gave them every facility, but was anxious that they should be as quick as possible. They did not linger in the cellar, which, though vast, was empty; and when they returned, Desiree, who was waiting for them, led the way upstairs.
They were rather abashed by her silence. They would have preferred protestations and argument. Discussion always belittles. The smile recommended by Papa Barlasch, lurking at the corner of her lips, made them feel foolish. She was so slight and young and helpless, that a sort of shame rendered them clumsy.
They felt more at home in the kitchen when they arrived there, and the sight of Lisa, sturdy and defiant, reminded them of the authority upon which Desiree had somehow cast a mystic contempt.
“There is a door there,” said the heavy official, with a brusque return of his early manner. “Come, what is that door?”
“That is a little room.”