Yet perhaps the fortunate man belonged to the court. If that was the case, how easy would the game now be made for him with the girl, who was guarded by no faithful eye!
His heart throbbed faster as he entered Red Cock Street.
The moon was still in the cloudless, starry sky, shining with her calm, silver radiance upon one side of the street. Barbara’s bow-window was touched by it, and--what did it mean?--a small lamp must still be burning in her room, for the window was illuminated, though but dimly. Perhaps she had kept the light because she felt timid in her lonely chamber. Now Wolf crossed obliquely toward his house.
Just at that moment he saw the tall figure of a man.
What was he doing there at this hour? Was it a thief or a burglar? There was no lack of evil-disposed folk in this time of want.
Wolf still wore his court costume, and the short dress sword which belonged to it hung in its sheath.
His heart beat quicker as he loosed the blade and advanced toward the suspicious night-bird.
Just then he saw the other calmly turn the big key and take it out of the door.
That could be no thief! No, certainly not!
It was a gentleman of tall stature, whose aristocratic figure and Spanish court costume were partially covered by a long cloak.
There was no doubt! Wolf could not be mistaken, for, while the former was putting the key in his pocket, the mantle had slipped from one shoulder.
“Malfalconnet,” muttered Wolf, grasping the hilt of his short sword more firmly.
But at the same moment the moonlight showed him the Spaniard’s face. A chill ran through his frame, followed by a feverish heat, for the nocturnal intruder into his house was not the baron, but Quijada, the noble Don Luis, his patron, who had just been lauding to the skies the virtues, the beauty, the goodness of the peerless Dona Magdalena de Ulloa, his glorious wife. He had intended to send Wolf, the friend and housemate of his victim, to Spain to become the instructor of his deceived wife.
He saw through the game, and it seemed as if he could not help laughing aloud in delight at his own penetration, in rage and despair.
How clearly, and yet how coarsely and brutally, it had all been planned!
The infamous scoundrel, who possessed so much influence over the Emperor, had first sent old Blomberg away; now he, Wolf, was to follow, that no one might stand between the game and the pursuer.