Hardly had plans been made for the disposition of the searchers than an agitated footman reported Peter Sissek's wife with dire news. She was brought before her employer trembling with excitement.
"Excellency," she cried, "He has escaped in the English car."
Pauline at the count's side clutched his arm.
"Thank God!" she breathed.
"They shall suffer who let him pass," the count roared, "Swine, children of swine, spawn of the devil."
"Let me go after him Excellency," Peter Sissek pleaded. "I will bring him back to you dead or alive as you command."
"Fool," the count shouted, "Who are you to do this, you who have not his skill nor so fast a car! Get you to Agram. I will telegraph to Fiume and Zara and Trieste and have him stopped for a thief."
"But," Pauline protested, "how dare you let it be known that it is the paper he has stolen? Dare you invite notice of it?"
The count looked at her very oddly. Never had he looked so coldly.