This is what he saw.
A fair-sized room, comfortably furnished, the walls surrounded with heavy curtains, the floor covered with a Turkey carpet. At one end the curtains were looped back, showing an alcove in which was a small bed. In the outer wall was also an uncurtained space containing the mysterious window, and before this ran the screen which had prevented their seeing into the room. It was a substantial affair of painted iron, which appeared to be securely fastened to the wall by bars at either end. In the room, at a table on which stood a lamp, sat a man reading. His head was bent over the book, and he seemed to be wearing some curious kind of cap, but from his position it was not possible to see his face. So he sat almost motionless, as the two men by turns observed him, reading steadily with one elbow resting on the table, his head on his hand, while with the other he occasionally turned the leaf.
For a long time they watched him, half fascinated, for, apart from his surroundings, there was a suggestion of strangeness and mystery about the figure. Suddenly he closed the book and pushed it from him, then threw up his hands, stretching back in an attitude of weariness. As he did so Galabin, who was at that moment in possession of the spy-hole, started back in amazement. Von Tressen in wonder looked through, and saw the cause of his action. The man below in throwing up his head disclosed a strange sight. For the face which the watchers had expected to see was covered by a mask, a white mask, bearing some resemblance to a ghastly human face, and fastened on by the curious head-piece which had puzzled them.
The man lay back in his chair with limbs stretched out, and the hideous face upturned for several minutes, during which the two men above watched him in uncomfortable fascination. Presently he sat upright, and turned his head towards the farther end of the room. Although of course there was a hideous absence of expression, yet the action was one of expectancy. The curtains moved, then parted, and a man came into the room, a short, thick-set, determined-looking fellow, in Magyar costume. He moved quickly across the room, carrying a pistol in his hand. Taking from his pocket a small winch he fitted it to a keyhole by the window and turned it. As he did so the mystery of its disappearance was solved, for, from the side an iron shutter moved noiselessly across the window, completely closing the aperture. This was, no doubt, on the outside made to match the stone wall, and so give no hint of an opening.
Having returned the winch to his pocket, the man went to the table and spoke a few words to the masked prisoner, for such he evidently was. Whether the other replied or not it was impossible for the watchers to tell. The jailor then left the room, and the prisoner, turning down the lamp, rose and went towards the alcove where the bed stood. The lamp flickered out, and only the faint flame of a candle remained. Galabin touched his companion, and withdrawing from the grating as silently as they had come, they made their way back along the roof, lowered themselves to the ground, and reached the wood without incident.
CHAPTER XVIII
A THREATENING PRESENCE
Next morning Count Zarka received a letter which occasioned him a considerable amount of uneasiness. It reached him by the hand of a peasant from the mountain district, and its perusal caused the thin lips to be drawn back, and the cruel teeth displayed in a grin which was very far from suggesting pleasure. Written by the man whom he had met at the mountain inn, the letter contained very few words, and those simply words of warning. But they caused the noble Count to meditate deeply. For he was playing a double game, and it presently occurred to him that if the information hindered him in one direction he might turn it to his advantage in the other. So after a hurried breakfast he ordered his horse and rode off towards the farm. He did not take the shortest path though, but one which led him past Von Tressen’s encampment. With his inscrutable grin he gave the two friends good morning, and made them wonder whether he had found out anything of the night’s doings. So they waited expectantly through his airy small-talk for a clue to the real object of his visit, which they felt sure was not paid for nothing.
They had not to wait long.
“By the way, talking of sport,” their amiable visitor observed carelessly, “have you come across another sportsman, almost as solitary as yourselves, who haunts this part of the forest?”
“Yes,” answered Galabin, to whom Von Tressen looked to reply; “there is a man who shoots about here.”