“Rooms deserted,” he whispered—“what’s on the third floor?”
“It’s a mere garret; the servants quarters are in a detached building in the rear.”
“We’ll chance the garret—I laid a chair across the foot of those stairs—and also at the head of the back stairs—anything doing below?”
“Quiet as the grave, sir.”
“An apt simile, Bernheim,” said the Archduke; “there is going to be a death or two down there to-night, if we can manage it—just as a gentle notice to our cousin of what he may expect.”
The old soldier’s hand sought impulsively his master’s.
“You mean it, my lord?” he asked eagerly.
“I do; I’m——” a stair creaked very faintly—“they’re coming,” he ended.
Both men bent forward listening ... the seconds passed ... no sound came to them. Then Bernheim bethought himself of the rail, and laid his ear upon it. Instantly he was up.
“They are coming,” he whispered, “I could hear them distinctly.”