Just as he was preparing to make a dash for liberty at some side street, gateway, or any other convenient opening, and was looking keenly ahead of him with a view to this contingency, he noticed, not far off, and on his side of the road, a man wearing the livery of some nobleman; a man who commanded attention by reason of his stature, for he was fully seven feet high and proportionately broad. He stood smoking a cigar, and lounging at the foot of a flight of steps that led up to the door of a stately mansion. Though attentive, apparently, to nothing but his cheroot, this man was in reality keeping a watchful eye upon the advancing escort, whose lieutenant was walking on the side remote from the steps. Though struck somehow by the man’s manner, Wilfrid was not prepared for his action. As the little party came up and was in the act of passing, the hitherto listless giant displayed a sudden and remarkable activity. Putting forth his mighty hands, he grasped the two near guards, namely, the one who marched before Wilfrid, and the one who marched behind, and hurled them, each against his neighbour, with such force that all four went sprawling to the ground, their sabres flying with them. At the same moment, Wilfrid found his wrist clasped by the hand of a young lady, clad in a handsome set of sables. “Quick,” she said, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Up these steps, and you are safe. Quick!” Wilfrid required no second bidding. Pulled by the lady upon one side, and by the giant upon the other, he was swung up the steps towards the door; it opened at a touch, and the three disappeared before the very eyes of the astonished escort. The rapidity of the feat was the most astonishing part of it: the affair had not taken more than six seconds. Recovering from his surprise, Voronetz called upon his men to follow him, and flourishing his sabre he sprang up the steps, bent on forcing his way into the mansion, when he suddenly stopped short at sight of some letters upon the glass lamp above the door. “We cannot enter here,” he said, his sword-arm dropping limply to his side; and then, realising the consequences of Wilfrid’s escape, he muttered, “Holy St. Nicholas! I shall lose my head for this.” While Voronetz stood there, irresolute and despairing, Wilfrid, having passed the double doors of the mansion, found himself in a stately entrance-hall with a gilt gallery supported on marble pillars. The tapestries and mirrors, the statues and pictures, rivalled the splendour of Versailles. Four lackeys in gold-laced liveries, stationed at different points, gave an additional touch of grandeur to the scene. Two well-dressed gentlemen, conjectured by Wilfrid to be secretaries, passing through the hall at this moment, glanced curiously in his direction.