It was dark when the prisoner reached his cell. An oil lamp lit the bare room. It was hung on a nail in the little cage out of reach of any occupant of the stone chamber.
Peter Sissek and old Ferencz had brought him to his prison. They offered him no violence. Evidently they were acting under orders. The count had made no comment on the bruises that still discoloured the American's face.
He had been sitting an hour on the edge of his cot when the outer door opened. Trent did not even look up. It was at this hour unappetizing food was brought and thrust under the cage, food he could pick at clumsily with his hands in iron bracelets.
Hearing no grating sound of heavy plate being pushed over the uneven floor he looked up. Pauline stood in the cage with Hentzi. The latter was obviously nervous and alarmed. He looked about him in dread and listened unhappily for sounds that might indicate the coming of others along the flagged passage.
"Open the gate," Pauline commanded, pointing to the steel barrier.
"If the count should hear of it!" he wailed.
"I will bear the blame," she said. "Be quick."
"You must be but five minutes," he insisted.
"I shall take ten," she retorted.
Wringing his hands Hentzi, the prey of many apprehensions, left her alone with the prisoner. It chanced that Pauline was aware of some petty thefts on the secretary's part, defalcations which would destroy Count Michæl's faith in his probity. It was a threat of exposure which forced him to bring her here.