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so, the lights on the first floor went out, the front doors closed with a bang, and a key turned in the lock and was withdrawn.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 bumped 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.”
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.
Armand put his mouth close to his Aide’s ear.
“Rooms deserted,” he whispered—“what’s on the third floor?”
“It’s a mere garret; the servants quarters are in a detached building in the rear.”
“We’ll chance the garret—I laid a chair across the foot of those stairs—and also at the head of the back stairs—anything doing below?”
“An apt simile, Bernheim,” said the Archduke; “there is going to be a death or two down there to-night, if we can manage it—just as a gentle notice to our cousin of what he may expect.”
The old soldier’s hand sought impulsively his master’s.
“You mean it, my lord?” he asked eagerly.
“I do; I’m——” a stair creaked very faintly—“they’re coming,” he ended.