“Of course, you are supposed to be ill; the poison is taking its effect,” I returned. “You had better stagger and lean on me for the rest of the way.”
It did not need much of an effort to make him look pretty ill. He went through some appropriate pantomime, dismal enough when one comes to think of it, and I pretended to help him along till we came to his house. As we turned in I certainly seemed to see the indistinct figure of a man some distance behind on the other side of the deserted street. Von Lindheim begged me to stay, and, indeed, I was unwilling to leave him, having seen enough on both that and the previous nights to realize that he might stand in considerable danger, although, had it not been for the evidence of my own eyes, I should probably have set down his own fears as rather childish.
In the house we found Szalay waiting, pacing the room in a perturbed state of mind.
“Well?” he inquired anxiously.
Von Lindheim flung down his hat. “We had better both make our wills, Szalay,” he cried in desperation.
Szalay’s face turned greenish grey. “You can’t settle it, then?” he asked nervously.
“I have nearly settled myself in trying to,” the other returned grimly. “I went to the Baroness’s to give Furello a hint, with the result that, but for our friend here, I should have been carried home on four shoulders.”
“Heaven! what do you mean?” Szalay’s eyes were almost starting from his head as he gasped out the question.
Von Lindheim related the story of his escape.
“My own idea is,” he said in conclusion, “that the whole business, your challenge, and my invitation, are simply methods to get rid of us both.”