“Ha! And buried—where?”
“In the wood, by the grave of Herr Pfarrer Gerrsdorff. If your Excellency wishes to be satisfied——”
“I am satisfied, mein Graf,” Rallenstein said sharply, “that you have played me a knavish trick; and I know not yet that it has been with impunity. Recollect that an unnecessary crime is the worst of blunders.”
“Not so unnecessary, Excellency,” the Count protested as the other tossed off a glass of wine as dismissing the subject. “One of my reasons for the haste by which I regret to have offended you was that our meddling Englishman has been here.”
Rallenstein nodded. “I know it. Now there, my dear Count——”
There was significance enough in the aposiopesis to make me shudder. The Count laughed; he was evidently beginning to feel easier.
“We made a good attempt,” he replied grimly. “But the fellow wriggled out of our hands somehow. Bleisst says he must be own brother to the devil himself.”
The conversation, if flattering, had become less momentous. I had heard enough; and the thought of Strode urged me to retreat while I could do so with safety. I slipped back to the inner hall, and thence found my way to the entrance of the long passage. As I was hurrying along this, I suddenly came into collision with some one, and next instant was seized very prettily by the throat. Luckily the pressure left just room enough to allow me to get out the word “Strode!” when to my double relief the fingers relaxed, and the Englishman’s voice said:
“A million apologies, my dear fellow, only I had to make sure. I was coming after you, as the love-scene appeared to have lasted long enough. Hope I haven’t hurt you?”
It was no place for conversation, and it was not until we were safely through the trap-door that I stayed to tell what I had heard.