"Yes; as well as of my own pocket," replied the man. "I was in service there in the days of the late countess."
"Then I daresay you can show us some back door that will yield readily."
"Hardly," said the guide, "for the fiend is on his guard; he has iron-barred every door of the place. But Michalko, the groom, has a sweetheart in the village, and if we are lucky we may find the postern ajar."
Their very horses trod with noiseless footfall, carrying them to their destination unobserved. Jacek tried the latch, the door moved on its hinges, and the little band dismounted. Wassilj was left to guard the entrance, while the rest of the men followed their stern captain through a vaulted passage into the building. It was their first aim to make sure of the half-dozen retainers who slept in a large room in the basement. Jacek approached on tiptoe. "The key is in the lock," he whispered, and turned it forthwith. Nothing was heard from within but the snoring of the occupants.
"It is as well to be prudent," said Taras; "they are sure to wake up with the commotion, and, forcing the door, might give us trouble. This is your place, then, Sophron and Karol," and the two men took their position accordingly. "Now for the officer. Where shall we find him?"
"On the first floor," reported the guide; "not far from the fiend's lair." The man, in common with all the villagers, thus habitually designated their shepherd, as though Victor von Sanecki had never been known by any other name. They ascended the stairs. On reaching the landing the report of a firelock was heard, a second, and a third in quick succession; a din of voices rose in the distance; the garrison at the manse evidently was showing fight.
At this moment a door opened, the officer bursting upon the scene, his pistol in one hand and his sword in the other. But quick as lightning Taras had closed with him, disarming him, and with powerful grasp holding him helpless on the ground, his servant and a lackey or two speedily sharing the same fate at the hands of the others.
"There is no time to be lost," said Taras. One of the bedrooms was standing open, its window was iron-barred, and there was no other outlet. "Push them in!" The door was locked upon the overpowered men, Sefko being ordered to guard it while the others now made for the priest's chamber.
They found it secured, but Taras, with the weight of his gigantic frame, had no trouble in making the door yield, his men, with the butt-ends of their muskets finishing the operation. They entered a spacious apartment, modestly furnished; a lamp expired, not at the breath of any man, but in consequence of a sharp draught from an open window, as the invaders perceived by the light of their torches. The room was empty, the bed to all appearance recently forsaken, and the casement wide open.
Julko rushed to the window. "Look here!" he cried, pulling up a sheet that was tied to the sash; "the wretch has escaped us!"