“Let him go,” replied Lykof, carelessly; “give him enough rope and he will hang himself.”
“After he has sent a few other people out of the world,” I replied dryly; and I saw that Von Gaden was surprised at his friend’s indifference.
“I would not let the villain go if I were you,” he said, looking earnestly at Lykof, as if endeavoring to fathom his motive.
“This rogue is so insignificant that I do not care about him,” returned the other, calmly. “I would rather set my snare for a greater rascal—that we know of.”
“It seems to me a constant menace to your own safety to let yonder fellow loose,” I remarked. “He is indeed insignificant, but none the less a mischievous rogue, and one who strikes in the back. I would rather end the matter with a bullet than let him go at large.”
“It is at least the wiser course to keep him a close prisoner,” Von Gaden said, with a certain air of deference, however, as if willing to yield his opinion to Lykof’s,—a manner that was unusual with the doctor, a man of strong will and quick decision.
But while we were thus discussing the matter, it was already settled. The prisoner had found a satisfactory solution of the problem. Von Gaden’s confidential servant came running to the door, much out of breath and visibly alarmed.
“A word with you, master,” he said in German.
“What is it, fellow?” asked the doctor, sharply, turning on him as if he suspected his errand.
“The prisoner has escaped, sir,” he stammered, looking thoroughly frightened at the displeasure gathering in his master’s eye.