“You shall not dictate to me, Lieutenant,” Zarka cried in fury. “In any case you will answer to me for this insolent intrusion. Now, stand away, or take the consequences!”
For reply Von Tressen handed Philippa to Galabin and advanced towards the door in front of which Zarka was standing like a tiger at bay.
“Do you mean to let us pass, Count?”
“Certainly not.”
In another moment Von Tressen had seized hold of him, and the two men were struggling fiercely. Strong and well-knit as Zarka was, he was hardly a match for his younger and more athletic opponent. A very few seconds’ time sufficed for the Lieutenant to get the upper hand. He forced Zarka from the door and then flung him heavily away.
Galabin and Philippa had by this already passed through the sacristy and out into the hall beyond. The valet had followed close upon them without showing any sign of what his intention might be, and as Von Tressen turned from Zarka to cover their retreat the Prince sprang before him and rushed after the man.
“Quick!” cried Galabin, seeing Von Tressen coming after them. “The sooner we are out of this place the better. Ah!”
The valet had rushed to the door for which they were making and locked it. Next moment Prince Roel’s fingers were round his throat from behind; he was pulled backwards and flung, half-throttled, to the floor.
“Good!” Galabin exclaimed, throwing open the door for Philippa. “Come with us, Prince; we must get you away from here.”
Philippa, passing out, drew back with a startled cry. In the doorway stood Zarka, with two swords in his hand. He entered and shut the door behind him.