Ferdinand read the mocking words by the light of the laugh. “While he lives——” he paused significantly.

“Yes,” said Morvan, following the thought, “Princess Ruperta is a resolute young woman. I think it might be well to release Count Irromar with a hint. With Rollmar for a close ally, even that dare-devil ceases to be a danger.”

CHAPTER XXX
ROLLMAR’S WAY

WHEN, early in the morning, Rollmar prepared to set forth on his return, he was surprised, and yet more enraged, to find that Princess Ruperta was not forthcoming. That the Count had left the castle he was aware, since his host had overnight excused his attendance, and taken his leave on plea of urgent business. Still, faithless and unscrupulous as the experienced reader of men had clearly seen the Count to be, he had still been far from anticipating such a defiant piece of treachery as this development of the affair seemed to indicate. He gave Gomer, the old major-domo, a very unpleasant quarter of an hour’s cross-examination, but failed to shake, either by threats or cunning, his repeated assurance that his master’s departure had nothing to do with the Princess’s disappearance. The Count, he reiterated, had ridden forth alone save for an escort of four men. The Princess had, he was sure, contrived to leave the castle some time before.

The Chancellor, accustomed to weigh probabilities, decided that the man was lying. It was far easier for him to believe the Count than the Princess capable of playing that trick upon him. Moreover, she could hardly have escaped from the castle without the Count’s connivance. It was true, Ludovic was a possible factor in the business, but why should Irromar play into his hands, even to spite Rollmar? Little as the Count might appreciate being worsted by that astute old brain, he was less kindly disposed towards the man who not only was his favoured rival, but who had so singularly defeated his evil plans. No. Rapidly reviewing in his mind the turn of affairs by the light of his knowledge of the Count’s stubborn, treacherous character, he satisfied himself that he had either spirited the Princess away, perhaps to some hiding-place in the mountains, or what was more likely, they were concealed in a secret apartment under that very roof. The crisis was as urgent as it was exasperating. Ruperta’s reputation had an immense, an especial value to him as an important factor in his plans, and this prolongation of a discreditable escapade was inexpressibly annoying. So, waving aside the seneschal’s protests and assurances, he demanded that the Princess should be forthwith produced. Gomer could only shrug his shoulders hopelessly.

“I will give you a quarter of an hour,” said the angry old man in his accustomed tone of command, which his fierce eyes ever rendered terrifyingly effective. “If by that time the Princess is not brought into this room I will first search every corner of this robber’s den, and then burn it down over your heads.”

There was an ugly look of half-restrained defiance in Gomer’s eyes as he replied protestingly, “I cannot, Excellency, bring the Princess to you, because she is not within these walls. As to your threat, I can only say that, in the absence of my master, the Count, I, having the temporary care and charge of this property, will take upon myself to resist your intention with the best means in my power.”

Rollmar, eyeing him sharply, gave a scornful laugh. “I understand,” he said, pointedly. “It is as I thought. You have your instructions. Your courage is inspired, doubtless, by a fear of the arch-bandit, your master, not so very far away. Very well, then you take the consequences, the most important of which to yourself will be that in a very few hours your carcass will be hanging outside the gate which, in your blind impudence, you think to keep against me.”

Gomer looked for a moment as though he would spring at the old minister and draw first blood anyhow. His life had probably been lawless, and his days passed in a state of defiance and danger. But there was something about Rollmar, an indefinable power and resolution, showing itself in the glitter of his eyes, the calmly assured dignify of his manner, which restrained him, as it had held back many another man. The light—unquenchable, it seemed—that burnt in that decrepit lamp held the desperado’s spirit under a mysterious spell. He could only repeat doggedly—

“Your Excellency may try to carry out your threat, but its certain failure will cost more than your Excellency dreams of.”