Part 24 (1/2)

They went softly up the steps and into the vestibule; not a sound came from within.

”Are you familiar with this house?” the Archduke whispered.

”Very, sir; I've been in it scores of times-salon on right, dining room and library opposite.”

”And the stairs?”

”In the rear, on the left.”

”Can you find the electric switch?”

The Colonel drew his revolver and stepped quickly inside; he knew there was a row of b.u.t.tons near the library door, and he found them readily.

With a single motion he pushed them in, and every chandelier and side-light in the entire lower floor sprang to life-illuminating rooms, solitary and undisturbed.

Over the mantel in the library hung a pair of beautiful old duelling rapiers, and the Archduke s.n.a.t.c.hed one down and tried its balance; then took the other and handed it to Bernheim.

”Take it, man,” he said, as the Colonel touched his own sword; ”take it, it's worth an armory of those; its reach alone may save your life, if we are crowded.” He made a pa.s.s in the air and laughed-it was sweet any time to feel the hilt of such a weapon, but now it was doubly sweet, with danger ahead and the odds he knew not what. He pointed upward.

”Come along,” he said-”now for the next floor and the clash of steel.”

But Bernheim shook his head.

”I pray you, my lord, be prudent,” he urged-”remember, to us you are the King.”

Faintly, from somewhere above, the cry came-weak and suppressed, but audible.

”Help! oh help!”

”d.a.m.n the woman!” Bernheim exclaimed, das.h.i.+ng forward to go first; and failing, by four steps.

The upper hall was dark, save for the reflection from below, but Armand caught the sheen of a switch plate and pressed the key. Five closed doors confronted him-without hesitation he chose the rear one on the right, and sprang toward it.

As he did so, the lights on the first floor went out, the front doors closed with a bang, and a key turned in the lock and was withdrawn.

Instinctively he stopped and drew back; at the same moment, Bernheim reached over and turned off their lights also, leaving the house in impenetrable darkness.

The Archduke stepped quickly across toward Bernheim, and b.u.mped into him mid-way.

”It's a trap,” he whispered; ”the locking of the door proves it-these rooms are empty, but we'll have a look and not be caught between two fires.”

”d.a.m.n the woman!” said Bernheim.

Armand laughed softly. ”Never mind her, we have other work on hand now.

You keep the stairway; put your sword into any one who tries to come up; I'll go through the rooms,” and he was gone before the Colonel could protest.

Bernheim tip-toed over to the head of the stairs and, leaning on the rail, listened. He could detect no sound in the hall below; the silence was as utter as the blackness. He stooped and felt the carpet on the stairs; it was soft and very thick, the sort that deadens noise. Behind him, a door closed softly, and he saw the gleam of a faint light along a sill, and, in a moment, along another further toward the front.

Evidently, the Archduke had met no misadventure yet. And so he stood there, tense and expectant, while the darkness pressed hard upon his eyes, and set them burning with the strain of striving to pierce through.

Presently he felt that some one was coming toward him, and then the faintest whisper spoke his name. He reached out, and his fingers touched the Archduke's shoulder.