“Herr Harlberg, no doubt,” Von Tressen said to Galabin. Then to Bela: “A short, elderly, gentleman, with a military air, was it not?”
The man shook his head. “Military, perhaps,” he replied. “But not old or short; he was tall and fierce looking, with black eyes that looked through one.”
The two men glanced at one another. “Who can this be? A sportsman, you say, Bela?”
“Yes, mein Herr; he had a sporting gun.”
So the stranger’s identity was a puzzle. “After all,” Von Tressen said at length, “we have no monopoly of the forest; it is open to all as to us. There may be other sportsmen about.”
Darkness having fallen by the time the meal was over, they lighted their cigars and strolled off again towards Rozsnyo. The sky had become cloudy and threatened rain; it was, however, a night well suited to their purpose. This time they made their way directly to that side of the castle where they had seen the mysteriously lighted window. No; not a trace of it was to be noticed; the wall was dark and presented the blank, unbroken surface they had seen there in the afternoon. Even in the darkness an unlighted window could not have escaped their scrutiny, and there certainly was none. They had the bearings exactly from the tree which Von Tressen had climbed; but opposite to it now was nothing but bare wall.
“I cannot understand it,” Galabin said.
“Could we have made a mistake about the light?” Von Tressen suggested.
“Both of us? Impossible! And yet—ah!”
He was looking towards the spot as he spoke, and now, breaking off suddenly, clutched his companion’s arm. The Lieutenant turned eagerly.