“If you have duped me,” I said sternly, “it will cost you your life, if the odds are twenty to one.”
“I have not duped you, master,” he replied earnestly. “M. Ramodanofsky’s daughter was there, and must be there still.”
We had reached the door, and he tapped on it three times in a peculiar manner; and after a little it was opened by a plain-looking woman, who gazed at me curiously, but stood aside to admit us, as if Homyak’s presence was a sufficient guarantee.
“Take this gentleman to Zénaïde Feodorovna’s apartments,” the dwarf said to her; and without a word she led the way, and we followed to the rear of the house and up a flight of steps; and here, at an open door, they both stood aside, and I tapped gently before entering, my anxiety swept away by the anticipation of seeing Zénaïde. A large vacant room met my eyes, sparsely furnished, and with a door leading into another apartment. I paused, hesitating to intrude farther. I looked back, and the woman stood in the other door, watching me curiously.
“Go in and tell mademoiselle that M. de Brousson is here,” I said.
She only stared at me for a moment, and then I repeated my order sharply.
“I thought you knew that she was not here now,” she said stupidly.
“Not here?” I rushed into the inner room, only to find it empty; but on the floor lay a woman’s glove, a glove like the one dropped by Zénaïde in the Kremlin long ago. In an instant I divined the truth.
“Where is that rogue?” I exclaimed as I came out.
“He has gone, master,” she answered stolidly; “he went down the stairs as soon as you turned your back, and out at the door.”