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Updated: May 23, 2025
Let the Baron at breakfast elucidate the mystery." But the Baron at breakfast said never a word of the domestic economy of his fortalice. Montaiglon's plans were simple to crudeness. "A plausible scheme," said Doom when he heard it, "but contrived without any knowledge of the situation.
As they met in the narrow confine of the lobby on either hand of them closed rooms noisy with clink of drinking-ware, with laugh and jest and all that rumour of carouse Montaiglon's first impression was exceeding favourable.
He had risen, in his moment of braggadocio, and was standing over the fish with a horn-hilted gutting-knife in his hands, that were sanguine with his occupation, and he had, in the excess of his feeling, made a flourish of the knife, as if it were a dagger, when Montaiglon's query checked him.
He unlocked the heavy lid, threw it open, looked down with a sigh at its contents, which seemed, in the light of he candle, nothing wonderful. But a suit of Highland clothes, and some of the more martial appurtenances of the lost Highland state, including the dirk that had roused Montaiglon's suspicion!
He was the last man to look to for aid in an enterprise like Montaiglon's: if he had an interest in the exploit it seemed it was only to discourage the same, and an hour or two of his company taught the Count he must hunt his spy unaided. But the hunting of the spy, in the odd irrelevance or inconsistency of nature, was that day at least an enterprise altogether absent from his thoughts.
Hospitality like that to half-a-dozen rogues from Arroquhar, who had already made a warm night for ye, was surely stretched a little too far. What did ye open for?" Mungo seemed to range his mind for a reply. He looked to Montaiglon, but got no answer in the Frenchman's face; he looked over Montaiglon's shoulder at Olivia, standing yet in the tremour of her fears, and his eye lingered.
Doom stood long looking at them with the flame of the candle blowing inward and held above his head a mysterious man beyond Montaiglon's comprehension. He stood behind him a pace or two, shivering in the evening air. "You'll be seeing little there, I'll warrant, Count, but a cold night and inhospitable vacancy, hard hills and the robber haunting them. For me, that prospect is my evening prayer.
A protest rose to Montaiglon's throat; a fury stirred him at the gaucherie that should bring Olivia's name upon the top of such a subject. He could not trust himself to speak with calmness, and it was to his great relief the Chamberlain changed the topic broadened it, at least, and spoke of women in the general, almost cheerfully, as if he delighted to put an unpleasant topic behind him.
With infinite caution, he crept round and round on the narrow corkscrew stair; at any step it might have been a catacomb cell. He listened at the narrow corridor leading to Olivia's room and that adjoining of her umquhile warder, Annapla; he paused, too, for a second, at Montaiglon's door. None gave sign of life. He went up higher.
Avancez, donc, mes princes! your ancient spirit once made plain the vacancies in the heads of his Grace's guests; let us see if now you do not conceal some holes that were for poor Montaiglon's profit." One by one he pulled them out of their positions until he could intrude a sensitive hand behind the shelves where they had been racked. There was an airy space.
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