But I was now at the end. The tunnel stopped abruptly at a winding flight of stone steps. Up these I climbed, laboriously enough, for no pains had been wasted on convenience; ascent was just practicable, and no more. When at length the top was reached I found my head against a wooden trap-door. I expected that this would be the end of that afternoon’s exploration, but to my joy I found that it was not fastened. Very cautiously I pushed it upwards, the shower of dust which was dislodged being almost welcome after the damp, noisome air I had been breathing. I found myself emerging into what seemed a cellar, anyhow a good-sized room in the basement of the Monastery. Nothing was to be heard; so far I was safe enough. I came up out of the stairway and set about discovering where it had landed me. I had judged it expedient to put out my candle, for only just enough remained to take me back again, and the light might betray me. So I had to grope about in semi-darkness. The first thing was to feel round the walls for an outlet, and presently my touch told me the door was reached. This yielded to a push and I passed through. I was now in a passage at the farther end of which a faint light shone. Very, very cautiously now I stole along, stopping between each long, wary step to listen. As I drew near the light I could see that it came from a doorway which opened upon the passage. My position seemed risky in the extreme; gradually I neared the light, scarce daring to breathe. Nothing was to be heard, anxiously as I listened.
At last I had crept to the doorway, and, after a pause, ventured to peep in. Then I saw that the light came through the barred window of an inner room. Having made certain of this and that the outer chamber was empty, I moved across till I could look through the window.
The first glance showed me a sight which amply repaid all my toil and danger.
CHAPTER XXXII
ASTA AT LAST
The room into which I looked was furnished in a style surprisingly in contrast to its situation. The walls were hung with rich brocaded curtains, the furniture and ornaments in the apartment were those of a luxuriously appointed boudoir. There appeared to be no window in the room save that (and it was practically none) through which I was spying, but it was lighted by several delicately-shaded lamps, which added to its cosy appearance. On a couch a girl sat reading. I needed not to wait till she looked up to be certain that it was Asta von Winterstein. My heart gave a great throb of joy to find that after all she was alive; but poor girl! thought I, what a prison, what a fate!
There was hope, however, now that I had found her, and I longed to be able to communicate my hope to her. She looked pale, as was natural, but wonderfully beautiful; there was a dignity about her expression now which had not been noticeable in the lively bantering girl I had danced with at Buyda.
My one thought now was how to attract her notice without jeopardizing the chance which fate had thrown in my way. Just as I had made up my mind to tap very softly at the glass between us, the girl suddenly raised her head and, following her glance, I saw a movement in the curtain at the further side of the room. Next moment it was pushed aside and another girl entered—the girl whom I had known as Miss Seemarsh.
She brought in a tray with tea and dishes of cakes and confectionery. I thought of the Count’s special bon-bons, and wondered whether Fräulein Asta was running the same risk. Perhaps not; they evidently had some object in keeping her alive, or why was the tragedy not already accomplished? Delay was certainly not one of the Jaguar’s methods. The girl set down the tray on the table which she placed by the prisoner’s side. They spoke a few words to each other, and then the girl began to move about the room, putting things tidy in a desultory sort of way, and occasionally making a laughing remark to Asta, who replied wearily. As she went about the room she took something out of a small dark box. Then turning round she seated herself carelessly on the arm of a large chair, and I could see that the object in her hands was a concertina. She held it up and played the first few bars of a lively operatic air. Then I shrewdly guessed her to have been also the pretended wandering boy musician I had seen at the inn. She had, no doubt, been sent to spy upon me and Von Lindheim, and her position in the Count’s household was clear.