'Shoot them down!' shouted Sagan, but the words were still on his lips when the door behind John Rallywood slowly opened and a figure stood beside him.
Its appearance checked the rising struggle, for the figure was the figure of the Grand Duke of Maäsau. He was wrapped in his hooded robe of green velvet, and the five points of the golden star of Maäsau blazed upon his breast.
'Cousin, I would speak with you, but these fools stopped me,' exclaimed Sagan.
The Duke turned his shadowed face and spoke to Rallywood in a low voice.
'His Highness begs you, my lord, to withdraw your men,' said Rallywood aloud.
Sagan, scowling, ordered his men to the further end of the long room. Meantime Rallywood, with evident unwillingness, pulled away a portion of the barricade. Through this the Duke advanced with a stately deliberation, and walked slowly up to the Count.
With a sudden hoarse shout of triumph Sagan flung his great arms about the Duke's body.
'By St. Anthony, Gustave, no one shall stop our conversation now!'
The Duke made no attempt to release himself from the rough hug that held him prisoner. He merely raised his hood with one hand, so that Sagan, his coarse mouth still wide in laughter, could stare into the countenance not four inches from his own.
Consternation and fury swept over the Count's features. From under the hood a red challenging face, a big white moustache, and shaggy-browed humorous eyes met his gaze. The sight held him gaping. But only for a second. Then he whipped out his pistol.