She jumped to her feet with a little grimace. “Oh, you are pig-headed. It is sad that you should go so soon, but if it must be, I know a kulak who has horses. His daughters are friends of mine, they are to be trusted — but have you money? If you are fugitives he takes the risk of an inquiry afterwards. His price will be high!”
De Richleau took out his pocket-book and handed a roll of notes to the girl as he asked: “Do you wish us to accompany you, Mademoiselle, or shall we remain here?”
“It is best that I should go alone, Monsieur.”
“What about the Château?” Simon suggested. “Think that it is — er — worth having a look at while Mademoiselle is gone?”
“Why not?” agreed De Richleau. “We have our torches, if Mademoiselle would be so kind as to guide us there.”
Rex stretched his arms and yawned. His half-hour’s nap before their meal had only served to make him more drowsy. “Not for this child,” he declared, wearily. “I guess I’ll wait till we’ve got horses — it’ll not run away, and I’ve just got to have another shut-eye before we start.”
“All right, Simon and I will go,” said the Duke. “We can spare an hour for our inspection while you sleep, and perhaps save another visit.”
“You wish to go to the Château?” said the girl, with a puzzled look. “But why?”
“If it is not troubling you too much, Mademoiselle. I have heard so much of the Prince Shulimoff, that I would like to see his Château even in a state of ruin. We could find our own way back.”
“It was a lovely place,” she admitted. “Even now it is imposing in the moonlight — but the moon will not be up for some time.”
“No matter,” said the Duke. “I would like to see it if we may trespass on your kindness so far.”
“Come then.” She turned to Rex. “And you, Monsieur — you will stay here?”
“Sure thing,” he laughed. “How long do you reckon you’ll be?”
“An hour — an hour and a half perhaps.”
“Then I’ll be sleeping like a log. If I don’t wake, bang me on the head with the frying-pan!”
“No,” she laughed back, as he settled himself on the divan. “I will fill your big mouth with a handful of snow. Au revoir, Monsieur.”
He waved one large hand, but he was already half asleep. De Richleau and Simon had put on their furs and left the cottage with the girl.
She led them along a narrow path through the woods and across the high-road, then by a cart-track through thicker woods to a place where two great stone pillars showed faintly in the starlight. To one a big wrought-iron gate still clung, rusted and broken, half overgrown with brambles. Here she paused.
“This is the entrance to the grounds,” she said, in a low voice. “It is too dark to see from here, but the house is straight ahead from where we stand. Are you certain that you can find your way back to the cottage?”
“Certain, Mademoiselle,” De Richleau replied, softly.
The night was utterly still and they were quite alone, but instinctively they spoke with lowered voices. “We shall hope to return within an hour, but this is a strange country — may we know your name? We have to thank you for such very great kindness.”
“My name is Marie Louise, but my mother’s name for me when we were alone was the Princess Marie Lou. It is pretty, that, do you not think?”
“Enchanting.” The Duke raised her little hand to his lips: “Princess, I am the very humblest of your servants.”
With Simon she shook hands, as he murmured his gratitude.
“Au revoir, Messieurs, et bonne fortune,” she laughed, gaily. “I will take care of your big friend!” A moment later her little figure disappeared in the shadows.
The garden had become a wilderness. The Duke and Simon followed the path as well as they could through a tangle of briars until they came at last to a big open space which must once have been one of the lawns.
It was freezing hard, and so still that the only sound was that of their own footsteps on the crisp snow. They mounted one terrace and then another. Suddenly the great, black bulk of the house loomed up before them in the faint starlight. As they came nearer they could see its gaunt outlines; through the blank upper windows patches of sky showed, where the roof should have been. The great facade was reminiscent of a miniature Versailles — the pile was splendid, even in its decay.
They mounted to the last terrace, with its broken stone balustrade, and flashed their torches on the walls. A long line of french windows, opening on to the terrace, stretched on either hand. De Richleau tried the nearest, but it was securely locked. The glass was gone, but it had been stoutly boarded over. They walked along to the left, inspecting each window as they went. All were the same, and each had loop-holes bored in the planking shoulder-high.
“Evidently the bandits Marie Lou spoke of fortified the place,” said the Duke, impatiently. “Let us try the other end.”
They turned, and in the other direction, at a short distance from where they had started, found a window that actually stood a few inches open. The silence was eerie, and Simon started nervously as the Duke swore softly. “What’s up,” he asked.
“I forgot to put my pistol back in my pocket after I’d cleaned it. It must be still in the cottage.”
“I lent mine to Rex,” whispered Simon. “In case anyone turned up while we were away!”
“No matter,” whispered back the Duke. “There is nothing to be frightened of here; that is,” he added, with a laugh under his breath, “unless the ghost of Prince Shulimoff has come back to do us the honours of his house.”
He pulled the window open as he spoke, and it yielded with a loud creak.
Simon had never felt such a strong desire to run away from something unseen and menacing; his ears felt as if they would burst with the intensity of listening; the house seemed to him an evil place, full of danger; he told himself that he was a fool. The Duke seemed quite unaffected, so he summoned up all his courage and followed him through the window.
It was utterly dark inside; not a vestige of light penetrated the inky blackness. De Richleau’s torch shot out a beam of light, it rested for a moment on the ceiling and travelled quickly along the cornice. The room was long and lofty — traces of a handsome moulding still remained, but the plaster hung in strips, and in places had altogether disappeared.
With a jerk the Duke lowered the beam to the skirting, and ran it round the edge of the wall. It had not moved more than two yards when it disclosed a large pair of field boots — instantly the light went out.
Simon felt the Duke push him violently in the direction of the window, but it was too late — a dozen torches flashed into their dazzled eyes — they were surrounded.
A group of silent men, each holding an automatic, stood before them.
“Good evening, Mr. Aron,” said a quiet, sneering voice. “Welcome to Romanovsk. We have been expecting you and your friend for some little time!”
In the glare of the torches Simon saw the big red head and white, evil face of Kommissar Leshkin.
XVI — The Dark Château
Leshkin rapped out an order in Russian; Simon and the Duke were gripped by the arms and led out of the room, across the echoing flagstones of a great central hall — roofless and open to the night sky. In the faint starlight they could see the broken balustrade of the grand staircase leading up to — nothing. At the far side of the hall they were led into the pitch darkness of a narrow passage and into a small room at the end.