the baroness asked us to supper at her house after the play, and would take no refusal.

“i did not stand out,” von lindheim said afterwards, “as it will be a good opportunity of giving the count a hint about this wretched duel. he is a sort of confidential aide of the chancellor’s.”

“not quite as easy-going as he looks,” i suggested.

“no; furello is not exactly a man to trifle with. he would be the last man for rallenstein’s purpose if he were. but i have always got on very well with him.”

some other men came into the box and we left; the baroness making us renew our promise to sup with her. “i shall slip out after the trial scene,” von lindheim said, as we returned to our stalls, “and report progress to szalay. poor fellow! i expect he is having an uncomfortable time. but i have hope yet of stopping this absurd affair. if i cannot get back here by the end of the play, we will meet at the baroness’s, wiener platz, no. 1, the large house at the corner.”

we met there later on, for he did not return to the theatre.

there were about a dozen of us at supper, a merry party enough when the champagne had gone round once or twice.

[pg 41]

“what an awful thing this is about poor von orsova,” some one remarked.

“ah, poor man!” the hostess said, “i dare not think of it. it is too horrible; to think that i was waltzing with him an hour before. to be dancing with an already half dead man,”—she gave a little affected shudder.

“he was to have been one of your guests to-night, was he not?” furello asked.

“oh, yes, indeed. who could have suspected when he accepted my invitation that he knew he would be dead long before.”

“does any one know the reason he had for suicide?” a lady next him asked furello.

the count gave a shrug. “nothing has yet transpired. but the motives for such an act are often impossible to ascertain. there is nothing so irresponsible and eccentric as the mind of a man who has a tendency to self-murder. a sudden impulse is enough to bring about the catastrophe. who knows? i for one should be very sorry to insist on an adequate motive.”

i looked at the man and wondered at his coolness. he spoke easily, without a trace of effort to suppress the truth. it was hard to recognize the grim executioner in the glib, urbane society man.

“oh, for heaven’s sake, let us change the subject!” the baroness cried. “life is quite miserable enough without dwelling on these horrors. the poor man is dead; what does it matter now? it is all shockingly sad; but what can we do? after all, life is for the living. do all of you fill your glasses, and banish melancholy for an hour at least.”

“i hope, baroness,” i said, for, as a foreigner, i occupied the place of honour, “you do not expect so soon a return?”

“of wretchedness? my dear mr. tyrrell, it is a [pg 42]trite saying, but if we could only see inside each other’s hearts what a revelation some of them would be.”

when supper was over, the ladies rose, and we were invited to smoke in an adjoining room. now an infamous thing happened, which, by the greatest good luck, i chanced to see. when the ladies were gone, von lindheim went over and began to talk to count furello, with the object, as i was sure, of giving him a hint about poor szalay’s duel. i, of course, kept aloof, and was happy in finding myself next to a talkative young fellow, who had seen something of english life, and was very interested in our ideas of sport. we chatted away on this congenial topic, and i took no further notice of my friend. my young neighbour and i got on so well, that presently he insisted that we should drink a bumper of champagne together to our better acquaintance. accordingly we rose and went towards a sideboard at one end of the smoking-room, where the wine and glasses stood in array. von lindheim and count furello were standing by talking quietly. in order not to interrupt them, we kept a certain distance away as we poured out our wine. we clinked glasses with true german fervour, drank with no less, and filled again. a morsel of foil from the neck of the bottle was floating in my wine. i turned to the light and fished it out with a spoon. in so doing, i faced a mirror, which, set at an angle, and combined with another at my back, enabled me not only to see over my shoulder, but showed me what was going on in front of the man whose back was turned to me.

and this is what i saw.

a peculiar, furtive action on the part of the count caught my eye. he was leaning his left arm on the sideboard, presumably to screen from von lindheim what he did with his right. this hand moved quickly to an empty glass close by, and, resting over it, [pg 43]tilted, as though pouring something into it. what the hand held i could not see. had not my mind been full of murder and sudden death, or had the act been done less stealthily i should perhaps have thought little of it; many a man doctors his drink against gout or some other chronic ailment. even here a doubt was in my mind; although i could not help an almost sickening feeling of something very like horror, and i determined to keep a strict watch. taking a sip of my wine, i turned again to the sideboard, still talking and laughing with my new acquaintance, but keeping my eye carelessly on the count. he took up a bottle, the cork was not drawn, and with a show of polite alacrity i handed him ours, which was but half empty. he placed another glass in a line with the first and filled them. as i expected and feared, he then pushed them forward in such a manner that the doctored glass came naturally nearest to von lindheim. my previous night’s experience was enough to tell me of the fearful danger in which my friend stood. i was determined that he should not touch that glass, yet what was i to do on the spur of the moment? a happy thought struck me. “let us all drink together,” i cried, feigning a slightly elevated manner, at the same time slapping my young friend on the shoulder, then going quickly round to the other side of von lindheim. “we will drink together all four,” i laughed.

von lindheim’s glance indicated his opinion that i had taken as much champagne as was good for me; the count showed his teeth in a tolerant smile. i leaned forward to the young fellow who was now separated from me by the other two men. “prosit!” i cried.

exactly what i had calculated upon happened. the count was obliged to turn slightly in order to touch the other’s glass with his own. at that instant [pg 44]i struck von lindheim a sharp blow. he turned to me half startled. “poison!” i dared only form the word with my lips, throwing all the horror i could into my expression as i nodded towards his glass.

“don’t drink for your life!” the words were not even whispered; happily von lindheim was sharp enough to comprehend the situation. he faced round to me, so that his back was turned upon the count, and next moment our glasses had been changed. i leaned forward and touched with the other two men; von lindheim did the same, and at a nod from me he drank some of his wine at which he at first hesitated. i raised the glass to my lips and pretended to drink, then i contrived unseen to spill a portion of its contents over my pocket handkerchief, so that i could return to my former place, a little unsteadily, with my glass half empty. all the time my brain was raging as i realized the hideousness of the business. the intense pity i felt for my friend comes back to me as the sensation uppermost in my mind then. but in that desperate situation action was imperative, sentiment useless. i kept up my talk with the young sportsman, watching all the while for an opportunity of saying a word to von lindheim. presently he left the count and came to me. my companion turned at the moment to relight his cigar, which in his chattering he had allowed to go out.

“you had better smoke a cigarette,” i said to von lindheim under my voice, “and then make an excuse to go. say you feel unwell.”

then i laughed and brought the other man into the conversation. he and von lindheim began to chat, as the count, throwing himself into a chair near us, opened a conversation with me.

we exchanged some commonplaces, the usual small talk between a visitor and a native. i could [pg 45]tell he was a man of great tact, natural and acquired. he invariably said the right thing, passing from topic to topic with a pleasant, well-rounded comment upon each, such cut and dried talk as avoids all pitfalls of argument or contradiction.

he gave an occasional glance at von lindheim, but quite naturally, his manner never showing the least preoccupation. to all appearances he was a genial, sociable man of the world, a state official merely by accident. in his careless way, however, he put a good many leading questions to me, principally as to my friendship with von lindheim, which i, affecting the part of a simple-minded sportsman, answered with a great show of frankness. presently my friend laid his hand on my shoulder. “don’t let me hurry you,” he said, “but i think of going homewards.”

“already? it is not so late for you, herr von lindheim,” furello remarked almost chaffingly.

“i’m tired and feel out of sorts,” he replied as naturally as one could wish. “good-night, herr count. many thanks for the good offices you have promised me.”

“i’m a bird that goes to perch early. i’ll come too,” i said, bowing to the count, who, to my disgust, held out his hand—the hand—which i was fain to take.

so we made our adieux and next minute were in the street.