The Ambassador unfastened the catch, flung open the window, and, with his body half out, looked down upon the water, whose surface had upon it a rippling ring that grew wider and wider each moment, a ring obviously caused by the fall of a body.
The watchers kept their eyes fixed upon the centre of this ring, waiting for Wilfrid’s head to appear. The circle spread outward farther and farther, till it became imperceptible to the sense of sight. The surface of the water grew smooth again; one minute passed, two, three, and still Wilfrid was not to be seen, nor any trace of him.
“By God! he’s gone! Caught in the mud at the bottom,” said the Ambassador in awe-struck tones.
“Still alive, dear uncle!” said a voice, coming from the direction of the door.
So deep was the amazement of the Ambassador and his lackeys at hearing the voice of one whom they had just taken for dead that for the moment they were powerless to do anything except to stare, vacant-eyed and open-mouthed, at Wilfrid’s smiling face, which in the dim light could be seen peeping in at them from the other side of the half-open door.
“I knew that crash would fetch ’em from the door. Your attempt to imprison me, dear uncle, has cost you seven hundred roubles, for your marble Diana is lying at the bottom of the Fontanka. Well, good-bye! I’m off to that meeting!”
Recovering from their stupor, the five men, mortified at being thus fooled, rushed forward, too late, however, to repair their blunder.
During their three minutes’ watch at the window, Wilfrid had quietly removed the key from the inner side of the room to the outer, and before his foes had time to reach him, he shut the door, locked it, put the key in his pocket, walked downstairs, and escaped safely to the street.