Before the embarrassing question could be farther pressed, there came a gentle knock at the door. Probably aware that the interruption would not have been ventured upon without good cause, the Count, with an impatient frown, strode across the room and opened it. Outside stood the old major-domo. “What is it, Gomer?”
“A traveller, an old gentleman, is at the door begging hospitality for the night, my lord. He has lost his way.”
“So!” The Count’s face was full of alert suspicion. “An old man, you say? Is he alone?”
“Quite alone, my lord.”
Irromar thought for a moment, then said, “Let him come in. I will see him before I consent to let him stay. We must be careful, Gomer, just now.”
“True, my lord,” the old man replied. “But there is little to be feared here.”
So, with a word of excuse to the Princess, Irromar went down into the hall.
CHAPTER XXV
THE FOX IN THE WOLF’S DEN
IN his first glance at the stranger, the Count told himself that Gomer was right and there was nothing to be on his guard against in the withered, decrepit-looking old man who, wrapped in a fur-lined travelling cloak, stood before him with a demeanour of apologetic entreaty. At the second glance he was not so sure. But at least there was nothing physically to be feared from the harbouring of such a guest, and as to cunning, why, he was himself no fool, and loved nothing better than to pit his wits against other men’s.
The old traveller had missed his road, it appeared, and got lost in the labyrinth of small mountain valleys which abounded in the district He had been anxious to push on, but the task was clearly hopeless for that night, and as he was told he could expect to come upon no decent inn for many miles, he was forced to make bold to crave a night’s hospitality, should it in no way inconvenience the noble Count. The noble Count was for the moment in two minds about entertaining a guest whom continued scrutiny rendered less and less prepossessing. But he was a man of action and of daring: if this dubious old fellow’s presence meant danger he would delight in finding it out and checking it, at the same time making his guest pay dearly for his temerity; if he were but the strayed traveller he represented himself to be, why, he might count upon a chatty supper companion. Accordingly, he graciously placed himself and his establishment at the stranger’s disposal and presently they went in to supper. It would be well, Irromar reflected, to give his fair prisoner a night’s respite, and to renew their interview next morning. Once he could bring her into subjection to his dominant will—and of this he was confident—he would have no fear of attack or of any unpleasant consequences.