"My friend, Herr Hamilton, has met with an accident.Where is his room?""Number nine; Johann will show you." He acted as if he had something more to say, but a glance from the round-faced porter silenced him.Maurice lost much by not seeing this glance.He followed the messenger up the stairs.
There were no transoms.The corridor was devoid of illumination.
The porter struck a match and held it close to the panel of a door under which a thread of light streamed.
"This is it, Herr," he bawled, so loudly that Maurice started.
"There was no need of waking the dead to tell me," he growled.
The door opened, and before Maurice could brace himself--for the interior of the room made all plain to him--he was violently pushed over the threshold on to his knees.He was up in an instant.The room was filled with soldiers, foot soldiers of the king, so it seemed.
"What the devil is this?" he demanded, brushing his knees and cursing himself because he had not brought his Colt when fate had put it almost in his hand.
"It is a banquet, young man.We were waiting for the guest of honor."Maurice turned to the speaker, and saw a medium-sized man with gray hair and a frosty stubble of a mustache.He wore no insignia of office.Indeed, as Maurice gazed from one man to the next he saw that there were no officers; and it came to him that these were not soldiers of the king.He was in a trap.He thought quickly.Fitzgerald was in trouble, perhaps on his account.Where was he?
"I do not see my friend who sprained his ankle," he said coolly.
This declaration was greeted with laughter.
"Evidently I have entered the wrong room," he continued imperturbably.He stepped toward the door, but a burly individual placed his back to it.
"Am I a prisoner, or the victim of a practical joke?""Either way," said the man with the frosty mustache.
"Why?"
"You have recently formed a dangerous acquaintance, and we desire to aid you in breaking it.""Are you aware, gentlemen--no, I don't mean gentlemen--that I am attached to the American legation in Vienna, and that my person is inviolable?"Everybody laughed again--everybody but Maurice.
"Allow me to correct you," put in the elderly man, who evidently was the leader in the affair."You are not attached; you are detached.Gentlemen, permit me, M.Carewe, detache of the American legation in Vienna, who wishes he had stayed there."Maurice saw a brace of revolvers on the mantel.The table stood between.
"Well," he said, banteringly, "bring on your banquet; the hour is late.""That's the way; don't lose your temper, and no harm will come to you.""What do you wish of me?"
"Merely the pleasure of your company.Lieutenant, bring out the treasure."One of the soldiers entered the next room and soon returned pushing Fitzgerald before him.The Englishman was bound and gagged.
"How will you have the pheasant served?" asked the leader.
"Like a gentleman!" cried Maurice, letting out a little of his anger."Take out the gag; he will not cry."The leader nodded, and Fitzgerald's mouth was relieved.He spat some blood on the carpet, then looked at his captors, the devil in his eyes.
"Proceed to kill me and have done," he said.
"Kill you? No, no!"
"I advise you to, for if you do not kill me, some day I shall be free again, and then God help some of you."Maurice gazed at the candles on the table, and smiled.
"I'm sorry they dragged you into it, Maurice," said Fitzgerald.
"I'm glad they did.What you want is company." There was a glance, swift as light.It went to the mantel, then passed to the captive."Well," said Maurice, "what is next on your damned program?""The other side of the frontier."
"Maybe," said Maurice.
With an unexpected movement he sent the table over, the lights went out; and he had judged the distance so accurately that he felt his hands close over the revolvers.
"The door! the door!" a voice bawled."Knock down any one who attempts to pass."This was precisely what Maurice desired.With the soldiers massed about the door, he would be free to liberate Fitzgerald;which he did.He had scarcely completed the task, when a flame spurted up.The leader fearlessly lit a candle and righted the table.He saw both his prisoners, one of them with extended arms, at the ends of which glistened revolver barrels.
"The devil!" he said.
"Maybe it is," replied Maurice."Now, my gay banqueteers, open the door; and the first man who makes a suspicious movement will find that I'm a tolerable shot.""Seize him, your Excellency!" shouted one of the troopers.
"Those are my revolvers he has, and they are not loaded."
