PRIDE'S PRICE
Carthew whispered some further hasty instructions to Herries, and, "Yes, my lord," the old factor answered again so that all could hear, and all understood that the tenth Earl of Jura and Baron St. Just had thus succeeded the ninth—who lay there dead on the floor before them.
The duchess was gently leading Sallie away. Herries followed them, on his own errands, while Captain Dove and his accomplices remained looking on with sullen, suspicious eyes, straining their ears in a vain attempt to hear what was to be their fate.
Carthew turned to them. "I'll bid you good night now," he said, in a tone not without a new tinge of authority in it, and at which they looked anything but well pleased. "You'll be more comfortable in your own quarters than anywhere else in the meantime." And, with that sufficiently broad hint, he stood waiting for them to go.
Captain Dove had opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. Slyne, very pinched and white about the nostrils, drew Mr. Jobling toward the door, as if he would not trust the shifty lawyer with Carthew, and answered for them all, with a most sarcastic inflection, "Good night,—my lord!" Now that the worst had come to the worst he was his old cool, careless, calculating self again.
Captain Dove paused at the buffet in passing, and went on with both hands full. Both he and Slyne, on their way toward the North Keep with Mr. Jobling shambling along between them, not unlike a condemned criminal, noticed the unusual number of able-bodied men-servants who seemed to have found aimless occupation of some sort about the corridor, and drew their own discomforting conclusions therefrom.
Slyne even hesitated for a moment on the threshold of the cosy living-hall which occupies the base of the North Keep, and then, with a grimace of disdain, followed the other two, closing the heavy door behind him. Almost immediately he heard the key turned quietly in the lock outside—and knew that his suspicions had been only too well founded. Carthew intended to keep him and his associates prisoners there. He bit his lip and pulled at his moustache as he watched Captain Dove drawing the cork of one of the two bottles of champagne that strategist had brought from the banquet-hall.
"We're cornered at last," he said suddenly, as the old man set the bottle down after having imbibed the best half of its contents. "They've locked us in here."
Captain Dove turned to glare disbelievingly at him, and then, darting across to the door, tugged furiously at its wrought-iron handle. He set a foot against the wall and tried again, with no better results. He bounced about, almost frantic, blaspheming as if bereft of all self-control. Mr. Jobling stood wringing his hands helplessly, his flaccid features expressive of abject despair. But Slyne continued to eye the old man with a strained, disconcerting composure.
"We haven't so much time to spare, Dove," said he bitingly, "that we can afford to waste any more watching you play the fool. I expect that fellow Carthew will have your whole history out of Farish M'Kissock within—"