as we drew near the monastery my worthy host gave me a short sketch of its history. how it had fallen from the high position it occupied in medi?val times to be a hostel of mercy for the sick and dying (which, indeed, thought i, in one sense it is still); then how the property fell, by the changes and chances of time, into the hands of the state, from which, for sporting purposes and a love of the picturesque, he was induced to rent it. i had my doubts about a good deal of this plausible story, but accepted the statements for what they were worth.

“two or three survivors of the order of st. tranquillin,” he continued, “still live on the premises. i had not the heart to turn them adrift, and as they confine themselves to a distant wing of the building we see little or nothing of them.”

i thought of the grave-diggers and their cassocks and cowls. pretty monks! a veritable house of mercy!

on our arrival at the pier, the drawbridge was let down. i saw that it would have been impossible to gain a secret entrance that way. we crossed the great courtyard, the door was thrown open, and at last i was under the roof of asta von winterstein’s prison. if the exterior of the building was gloomy, it seemed positively gay compared with the interior, [pg 167]which was dark, cold, gaunt, and depressing enough to make a sexton shiver. the great entrance hall, in spite of the faded tapestry with which it was hung, was inexpressibly bare and gloomy. what, i thought, must that poor girl’s feelings have been when she was brought in? my own were such that it called for a strong effort of will to keep my nerves steady. the count led the way to a passage leading from the hall, he opened a door and ushered me into a room which was furnished in a style of luxurious snugness, in cheerful contrast to its approach. as we entered, a lady rose, whom the count made known as his sister. there was not much likeness, however, between them; still, it was hardly worth while to doubt the statement.

a handsome woman she must have been once, indeed was so still, but the lines of the face were hard, and about the eyes was a suggestion of a sad history. she looked at me curiously, the expression was but momentary; then she seemed to resume a mask which for that instant she had inadvertently let fall, and chatted pleasantly enough until the count suggested our getting ready for dinner. he conducted me himself across the gloomy hall, thence upstairs to a well-appointed dressing-room, like the rest of the house charged with a chilling atmosphere of dreariness. left alone, the sense of my great danger came strong upon me. knowing what i did of the count, it was, i told myself, sheer madness to touch food in his company. on the other hand i argued that he, or rather rallenstein, his master, would think twice before attempting foul play with me. i might regard my host’s polite attention more as a means of keeping observation on me and my movements than as a death-trap. it was hardly conceivable that they could have even an inkling of my being aware that fr?ulein von winterstein was alive and under that [pg 168]very roof. anyhow, i was committed to the adventure; i had an object to gain in going through with it; and must now trust to fate and to my own alertness to bring me safely out.

it was my purpose to note as much of the interior of the monastery as i could. a glance out of the window explained the total darkness and silence of the house as seen from without. it was built in the form of a hollow parallelogram, round an open space on which, presumably, the windows of the principal inhabited rooms looked out. by keeping, then, the outer line of rooms dark and empty, no watcher from outside could have any idea of what was going on within, nor tell whether the place was deserted or occupied by a large household. the outlook upon this middle space was no less dismal than the rest of the building. the masonry was green from age and neglect, the lower windows were crossed and recrossed by rusty bars, and the more than usually hideous gargoyles did not detract from the cheerlessness of the aspect. i wondered if any one of these barred windows was that of asta von winterstein’s prison. if so, a further scrutiny told me an attempt to rescue her by anything short of force was practically hopeless. still, i resolved to keep my eyes on the alert for anything chance might have to show me; it had so favoured me hitherto that i was inclined to hope more from it. my reflections were interrupted by the knock of a footman, who came to conduct me downstairs, an attention which, in my spying mood, i did not appreciate so much as i did its probable reason.

in what i suppose would be called the drawing-room the count and his sister were waiting for me, he dressed in a dining-suit of dark blue velvet which rather accentuated his peculiar characteristics. as dinner was announced i discovered that we were not three, but four, as a man, whom, if he had been in the [pg 169]room on my entrance, i had not noticed, came forward from behind me.

“ah, let me present herr bleisst, my good friend and secretary,” the count said with a flourish. the good friend and secretary bowed low, and as he straightened himself his face suggested to me that whatever his merits as a secretary might be, those as a good friend to any one were at least problematical. then i offered my arm to the hostess and we went in followed by the two men.

if i had any doubts as to a sinister motive behind the count’s hospitality they were now dispelled in startling fashion.

as we entered the dining-room the count and bleisst, walking behind us, separated, and for a moment turned their backs on us as each went towards his place at the table. my hostess let her handkerchief fall and we both by, as it were, a common impulse, stooped to pick it up. at this instant, our heads being close together, she whispered hurriedly, “only pretend to eat the sweetmeats—for your life.” as we rose she was thanking me, and apologizing for her carelessness, and we took our seats at the table.

i was inwardly not a little excited by her secret warning, but flattered myself i showed nothing of it to the count’s restless, vigilant eye. before each of us was a gilt dish of sweetmeats, specimens of the most perfect dainties of the confectioner’s art. at least, i should be able to eat the other dishes without fear—or was this a trick within a trick? i thought not, but resolved all the same to let my companions serve as tasters and to touch nothing they refused.

the dinner passed off with less dreariness than might have been expected, considering all things. it was not exactly a lively meal, but the count had a fund of talk; he was, for such a scoundrel, a man of [pg 170]considerable culture, and i even wondered how, amid the less innocent pursuits to which he was addicted, he had found time to become as well read, both in classical literature and the topics of the day, as he showed himself to be. he was certainly an amusing talker, and although some of his arguments were supported by reasoning shallow to the verge of flippancy, yet they were none the less entertaining, and that just then was everything. my appetite after a day in the keen air of the hills was so good that not even the sight of what i might call the second murderer of the establishment, that is, the man who had fetched the priest from carlzig, could quite spoil it. this fellow glided in and out of the room occasionally, and seemed to combine the duties of major-domo with those of the functionary i have just mentioned. the two men who waited upon us i had never seen before, and from their faces i set them down as being comparatively virtuous, which is not saying much.

another curious circumstance gave me food for thought in the midst of my host’s showy apothegms. it was the somewhat remarkable silence of his good friend and secretary. herr bleisst sometimes nodded, occasionally shrugged, and often smiled, but it was not until dinner was more than half over that he contributed anything audible to the conversation. and even then he seemed to speak by mistake. the count was favouring me with his opinion on the respective advantages of an autocratic and a democratic government, and supporting his preference for the former by his usual method of highly coloured argument. he even went so far as to assert that the autocratic rule gave greater freedom to the people than they could get by governing themselves.

“now, in england,” he said, “you think yourselves absolutely free, is it not so?” i bowed assent. “and yet,” he proceeded, “a moment’s reflection [pg 171]should convince you that so far from this being the case, there is, if i may speak without offence, more slavery in england than in any other country. take one section. what do you call a snob: is not that merely another name for a slave?”

“it is voluntary servitude,” i suggested.

“granted,” he replied. “but none the less real and constraining. then a stronger case is the liberty which your boasted freedom gives to one class of men to make slaves of another; to the strong to coerce the weak, the rich the poor. you smile! surely you will not dispute that?”

my smile had been called up by the thought of a power used by the strong against the weak under a certain despotic government, which put the worst crimes of plutocracy into the shade. but it did not seem expedient just then to cite instances.

“at least the weak and the poor are at liberty to refuse to be enslaved,” i answered by way of saying something. “in an autocratically governed country it is slavery or death, with not always the option of slavery.”

the count returned my smile with interest. “a very apt description of your sweating dens in london.”

then it was that bleisst spoke, giving an extra clinch to his patron’s argument.

“where,” said he, “does this liberty to refuse slavery lead? to the workhouse, which is undisguised servitude, with the prospect of a slave’s only ransomer, death.”

the surprise with which i looked at the secretary was not occasioned altogether by the novelty of the remark from his lips, but from the impression that i had heard his voice before. yes, it was beyond doubt familiar, and so preoccupied was i by the coincidence, that i fear i let my ingenious host carry off the honours of the argument against my country. [pg 172]i was still puzzling over the identity of herr bleisst, and scrutinizing him as attentively as good manners allowed, when i was recalled to the exigency of the situation by the count’s inviting me to try some of the dish of sweetmeats before me.

“i have them sent weekly from buyda,” he said persuasively; “you know our metropolis prides itself on these fascinating trifles, and will not allow the superiority of even vienna or paris itself.”

my hostess added a word of recommendation and pushed the dish towards me. understanding her feint of pressing them upon me, i took several of the bon-bons on to my plate, and from time to time made a pretence of eating one, at the same time being loud in praise of their excellent flavour. a trick acquired in my school days of palming coins and cork pellets stood me now in good stead, and in a short time the sweets had left my plate and were safely stowed in my pocket.

the secretary, bleisst, now began to join freely in the conversation, and every fresh remark he made confirmed my conviction that i had talked with him on some previous occasion, but certainly not under his present identity.

as his sister rose and left us, the count came to me, and, laying his hand familiarly on my shoulder, told me he could not think of permitting me to turn out that night and go all the way to the inn.

“you must sleep here,” he insisted. “i need not apologize to a man of your nerve for the gloom of our rooms. we have doubtless both had worse hunting quarters, and i can furnish you with everything you need to make you comfortable. so you must not say no.”

i had all along expected this invitation, and had made up my mind to go through with the adventure at all hazards, leaving to chance the details of a vague [pg 173]plan i had formed for discovering fr?ulein von winterstein’s prison. accordingly i thanked him and accepted.

“that is friendly of you,” he said. “bleisst, will you see that all arrangements are made for mr. tyrrell’s comfort. i think the prior’s room will be most pleasant.”

the secretary had come up to us, and now turned with a slight bow to go off on his errand. as he did so, some expression in his face, which i had not noticed before, gave me in a flash the clue to his identity. then i knew who he was. the face was curiously, unaccountably changed; it was fifteen or twenty years younger; the man’s expression and mode of speaking were different. nevertheless, a tell-tale slip had betrayed him, and now, perfect as his disguise had been, i recognized in the smug, clean-shaven herr bleisst none other than the soi-disant professor seemarsh.