Then they brought up suddenly in front of the house; and as they paused to find the steps, a light flashed, for an instant, from the upper windows, and disappeared—as if an electric switch had been turned on, and off again. But its life had been long enough to show the broad entrance porch, and the big doors beyond it—and that they were open wide.
At the sight, Bernheim swore a good round oath and seized the Archduke’s arm.
“It’s a trap, my lord, it’s a trap!” he exclaimed.
And again Armand hesitated; and again the cry came, though muffled now and indistinct.
“We will have to chance it,” he said, “I can’t desert a woman who calls for help.”
“Very well, sir,” said Bernheim, knowing that further opposition was useless, “but if it is a trap, she’ll be the first I kill.”
They went softly up the steps and into the vestibule; not a sound came from within.
“Are you familiar with this house?” the Archduke whispered.
“Very, sir; I’ve been in it scores of times—salon on right, dining room and library opposite.”
“And the stairs?”