Von Orsova raised the hand which held the small object. “This works quickly?”
“Instantaneously.”
The soldier seemed to fumble with it, then he burst out, “This is horrible! I cannot—I am young and unready to die. Furello, my friend, let me escape; no one need ever know. I have rich relations and friends; I will buy my life with a fortune beyond—ah!”
The cry was one of despair, as the Count extended his arm to fire, and so cut short the other’s pleading. It was appalling. As I realized what was going forward I broke out into a cold perspiration. My nerves are pretty firm, but I found myself trembling and almost paralysed, at least quite unable to decide on any line of action. The Count’s reply fell on my ear, but my brain was only half conscious of it.
“I give you ten seconds. I am not a madman; and, if I were, escape would be impossible. Shall I fire?”
Von Orsova raised his hand. “I will spare you the trouble,” he said, and then turned to the wall. I heard the murmuring sound of his voice, perhaps in prayer; then he raised his right hand to his head. Next moment he staggered from the wall and fell heavily backwards with an awful thud, his head almost striking the Count, who jumped back that it might clear him. So he stood for a few seconds watching the supine body, his pistol still pointing as though fearing a trick. Then he moved round, always keeping his face towards the body, took up the candles in his disengaged hand, and held the light so that it fell on Von Orsova’s face. From the distance at which I was placed I could plainly see the features, livid and distorted. I realized then that the startling tragedy was over. By a curious reaction my nerves suddenly regained their normal tension, and I could view the scene with as little excitement as though it were occurring on the stage, could look in mere curiosity to see what the Count would do next. It was dramatic enough. The great room was dark now (for the moon was obscured), save at one corner, where the candles flickered on the ghastly face of the dead Hussar, made more horrible by contrast with his gorgeous uniform; then the relentless black figure stooping over him.
Satisfied apparently with his inspection, the Count set the candelabrum on the floor, and kneeling down beside the body, proceeded to unfasten the tunic, and inserting his hand, kept it for a while upon the heart. He withdrew it, fastened the gilt button again, raised the dead hand and let it fall with a thud on the floor. Then he rose and took up the light, seemed to notice some small object lying near, which he pushed with his foot towards the body, held the lights above his head, and looked round the room.
Then he set down the candelabrum upon the table again, and went softly to the door.
I groped my way back into the corridor, pushed open the right door this time, and found my way without difficulty down to the private entrance of the palace. A soldier on guard there challenged me, but saluted and made way respectfully on my explaining that I had come from the Oberkammerer’s apartments.