Rudolph Smolenski had relieved the intense gloom that had settled
over his inhospitable drawing-room by lighting two oil lamps and
several candles, much to the satisfaction of his unwelcome guests. The
pistol-shot that had emphasized their proximity to crime had for an
instant seemed to nail down the curtain of night at one blow. Rudolph’s
activity in making the apartment more cheerful had greatly tended to
relieve the strain of the situation.
“I am in a quandary,” Benedict had said to Kate. “I hesitate to leave you
here at this moment, but there is a great mystery to be solved at once.”
Rudolph’s hand trembled perceptibly as he held a match to a candle’s
wick. There was something in his manner that affected Kate Strong
unpleasantly. Her overwrought nerves exaggerated the uncanny features
of her surroundings, and she grew cold at the thought of Benedict’s
departure.
At that instant a door opened at the rear of the lodge, and Mrs. Brevoort
and Ned Strong, groping through a dark hall-way toward a gleam of light,
burst into the room.
“What is the matter, Kate?” cried Mrs. Brevoort, rushing toward
her friend, while her companion stood in the centre of the room,
scrutinizing, with a puzzled expression in his eyes, the disturbed faces
of Benedict and Rudolph.
“Rudolph,” cried Ned Strong, suppressed excitement in his voice, “a crime
has been committed at the house—perhaps a murder. What do you know about
it?”
Norman Benedict had been relieved of all responsibility, so far as Kate
Strong was concerned.
“Pardon me,” he said to Ned Strong, “but would it not be well for us to
go up to the manor-house at once?” Benedict did not lack courage, but,
under the circumstances, he was pleased at the prospect of having an ally
in his tour of investigation.
Rudolph Smolenski, pale with apprehension, but rendered active by the
dark possibilities that threatened him, had placed himself at the doorway
through which the young men threatened to pass. The Rexanian put up a
hand with a gesture that was both threatening and imploring.
“Remain here, Mr. Strong; and you, sir. It may not be safe for you to go
up to the house.”
“What do you mean, Rudolph?” asked Ned Strong, sternly. “Be careful, man.
You are putting yourself in a very questionable position. Stand aside,
and let us pass. If there’s any one in great danger, Rudolph, I think
you’re the man. Stand aside.”
Kate Strong and Mrs. Brevoort, with hand clasped in hand, were seated
side by side on the sofa, gazing with disturbed faces at the three men.
“Listen to Rudolph, Ned,” implored Kate. “He may be right. You may run a
great risk in going to the house.”
Rudolph still stubbornly held his place in front of the door. Norman
Benedict’s patience was at an end.
“Come, come, man,” he exclaimed. “Out of the way, or we’ll be obliged to
use force. Do you hear me?”
Mrs. Brevoort had arisen. Ned Strong felt a gentle hand on his arm.
“Don’t go up to that gloomy old house, Mr. Strong,” she implored, looking
up at him with an expression on her face that made life seem very
precious to him at that moment.
“There is not the slightest cause to worry,” he said, quietly, although
his pulse was beating feverishly. “This gentleman—Mr.—Mr.——?”
“My name is Benedict,” answered the reporter, impatiently. “I found Miss
Strong with a sprained ankle near the gate, and have had the pleasure of
being of service to her. But you’ll pardon me for using heroic measures.
I have wasted too much time already.”
With these words, Benedict seized Rudolph by the collar of his coat and
hurled the pudgy little Rexanian into a far corner of the room. Then he
bolted through the door.
“I can’t let him go alone,” cried Ned Strong, reluctantly but firmly
removing Mrs. Brevoort’s hand from his arm. “Remain here. We’ll be back
at once.”
Thus saying, he dashed down the dark corridor in pursuit of Benedict.
Rudolph Smolenski had managed to totter to his feet and was gazing about
the room in a dazed way. The reporter had, in the excitement of the
moment, used more force in removing the Rexanian from his path than was
actually necessary for his purpose.
“What do you make of all this, Kate?” exclaimed Mrs. Brevoort, reseating
herself beside the girl, and looking at the ludicrous picture that
Rudolph presented, with a nervous smile on her face.
“I’m sure I’ve got beyond the point where my opinion is worth much,”
answered Kate, wearily. “My ankle aches, and the whole universe seems to
be nothing but an exposed nerve.”
“Poor girl, how thoughtless I’ve been!” cried Mrs. Brevoort, gently,
pushing Kate back into a reclining position. “Get me some cold water,
man,” she said to the lodge-keeper, whose wits were beginning to return
to his aching head.
“That is much better,” said Kate gratefully, a few moments later. “But is
it not strange that the doctor does not come?—Rudolph, did you see Dr.
Moore?”
“I did, Miss Strong,” answered the Rexanian, with reckless defiance of
the truth. He had begun to feel that one lie more or less would not make
much difference with the retribution that threatened to overtake him so
soon. “He should have been here long before this.”
The minutes dragged slowly along. To the two women the next quarter of
an hour seemed almost interminable. Mrs. Brevoort used part of it to
describe to Kate Strong the weird scene that she and Ned had witnessed
just before the pistol-shot had punctuated the course of events.
Morose, but alert, Rudolph Smolenski overheard her story, and his
sluggish brain began to grasp the fact that it was high time for him to
act. Hitherto he had been tenacious of a lingering hope that he had not
already forfeited his situation. The blow he had received when he struck
the floor had not tended to give him a clear idea of the helplessness of
his position. But as it dawned upon him that Ludovics must have been the
man who fired the pistol at the manor-house, a cold sweat broke out upon
his hands and brow. He had been the last man to talk to Ludovics, and the
driver of the carriage that still waited outside the lodge gate had been
a witness to their conversation. If Ludovics had murdered the prince, he,
Rudolph, would be held as an accessory before the fact.
“Where are you going, Rudolph?” asked Kate suspiciously, as the Rexanian
arose and walked unsteadily toward the door leading into the corridor.
“Just outside a moment, Miss Strong,” he faltered. “I will take a look
toward the big house and see if they are coming.”
“Do,” returned Kate. “I am growing very impatient,” she added, turning to
Mrs. Brevoort.
They sat in silence for a time, their cold hands pressed together.
Suddenly they heard the rattle of a ramshackle vehicle as it passed the
front of the house, bound cityward.
“That’s strange,” cried Mrs. Brevoort, springing up. “What does it mean?”
It meant that they would never set eyes upon Rudolph Smolenski again.
But they had no time now to dwell upon his disappearance. Hardly had
the noise of the retreating carriage died away when the sound of many
voices reached them from the end of the corridor, and they felt a mingled
sensation of relief and apprehension at the approaching footsteps of a
crowd.