"And now tell me all about--Mr. Pless. How is he looking? Does he appear to be unhappy?" There was a curious note in her voice, as of anxiety or eagerness, it was hard to tell which. In any case, I found myself inwardly resenting her interest in the sneering Hungarian. (I had discovered that he was not an Austrian.) There was a queer sinking sensation in the region of my heart, and a slight chill. Could it be possible that she--But no! It was preposterous! "He appears to be somewhat sentimental and preoccupied. He gazes at the moon and bites his nails." "I--I wish I could have a peep at him some time without being--" "For heaven's sake, don't even consider such a thing," I cried in alarm. "Just a little peek, Mr. Smart," she pleaded. "No!" said I firmly. "Very well," she said resignedly, fixing me with hurt eyes. "I'm sorry to be such a bother to you." "I believe you'll go back to him, after all," I said angrily. "Women are all alike. They--" "Just because I want to see how unhappy he is, and enjoy myself a little, you say horrid things to me," she cried, almost pathetically. "You treat me very badly." "There is a great deal at stake," said I. "The peril is--well, it's enormous. I am having the devil's own time heading off a scheme they've got for exploring the entire castle. Your hus--your ex-husband says he knows of a secret door opening into this part of the--" She sprang to her feet with a sharp cry of alarm. "Heavens! I--I forgot about _that!_ There is a secret panel and--heaven save us!--it opens directly into my bedroom!" Her eyes were very wide and full of consternation. She gripped my arm. "Come! Be quick! We must pile something heavy against it, or nail it up, or--do something." She fairly dragged me out into the corridor, and then, picking up her dainty skirts, pattered down the rickety stairs at so swift a pace that I had some difficulty in keeping her pink figure in sight. Why is it that a woman can go downstairs so much faster than a man? I've never been able to explain it. She didn't stumble once, or miss a step, while I did all manner of clumsy things, and once came near to pitching headlong to the bottom. We went down and down and round and round so endlessly that I was not only gasping but reeling. At last we came to the broad hall at the top of the main staircase. Almost directly in front of us loomed the great padlocked doors leading to the other wing. Passing them like the wind she led the way to the farthermost end of the hall. Light from the big, paneless windows overlooking the river, came streaming into the vast corridor, and I could see doors ahead to the right and the left of us. "Your bedroom?" I managed to gasp, uttering a belated question that should have been asked five or six flights higher up at a time when I was better qualified to voice it. "What the dickens is it doing down here?"