Ludovic made a restraining gesture. “Stay here with me for the next twenty-four hours and we will start together. In the meantime I will guarantee your safety.”
The soldier looked at him curiously. “You speak very confidently, young sir; and I am loath to disbelieve you. But you will pardon me if I am inclined to set more store by the practical and cogent evidence of Chancellor Rollmar’s ill-will than by the pleasanter but less tangible proofs of Lieutenant von Bertheim’s good-will.”
“And yet,” replied the other, “I could easily convince you.” He stopped and seemed to debate with himself, taking a turn across the room. His manner evidently puzzled Ompertz, who stood with his hand on the door, his departure just restrained by curiosity. But the chance of safety by staying seemed too doubtful. “I must wish you farewell, and a safe slipping out of old Rollmar’s clutches,” he said, pulling open the door.
Ludovic turned. “You will not go?”
“While my feet can touch terra firma.”
“You will go to your death. Whereas——”
The sound of a horse’s hoofs came up the street, and suddenly ceased under their window. Then came a knock at the street door. Ompertz let an oath slip through his teeth. “Too late! I have stayed to my death. But——” He set himself hard, taking his stand in a corner of the room with drawn sword. Von Bertheim laughed but made no remark. Both men kept silence, in which they could hear the door being opened. Next moment a man’s figure appeared in the doorway, and a good-humoured face looked with amused wonder at the room’s two occupants and their strangely contrasted attitudes, one loungingly expectant, the other desperately militant.
Checking the visitor’s exclamation of surprise, Ludovic went forward with a cry of welcome.
“Anton! You, my dear fellow, at this time of the night! You bring me news?”
“Or I should scarcely have risked finding you so very wide awake at this hour. Yes; I bring you news, and have ridden hard with it.”