For a moment Classon stood still and motionless; then bending down his head, he tried to listen to what was passing outside, for there was a sound of voices in the corridor, and Driscoll's one of them. “The scoundrel is betraying me!” muttered Paul to himself. “At all events, these must not be found upon me.” And with this, and by the aid of his one disengaged hand, he proceeded to strew the floor of the room with the various papers he had abstracted from the box. Again, too, he listened; but now all was still without. What could it mean? Had Driscoll got clear away, without even alluding to him? And now he turned his gaze upon the sick man, who lay there calm and motionless as before. “This will end badly if I cannot make my escape,” muttered he to himself; and he once more strove with all his might to unclasp the knotted fingers; but such was the rigid tenacity of their grasp, they felt as though they must sooner be broken than yield. “Open your hand, sir. Let me free,” whispered he, in Conway's ear. “That fellow has robbed you, and I must follow him. There, my poor man, unclasp your fingers,” said he, caressingly, “or it will be too late!” [Illustration: 402] Was it a delusion, that he thought a faint flickering of a smile passed over that death-like countenance? And now, in whispered entreaty, Classon begged and implored the other to set him free. “There is nothing for it, then, but this,” said Paul, with a muttered curse, “and your own fault is it that I am driven to it!” And, so saying, he drew a powerful clasp-knife from his pocket, and tried to open it with his teeth; but the resistance of the spring still defied all his efforts for some time, and it was only after a long struggle that he succeeded. “He's insensible; he'll never feel it,” muttered Paul below his breath; “and even if he should, self-preservation is the first of all cares.” And with this he grasped the knife vigorously in his strong hand, and gazed at the sick man, who seemed to return his stare as fixedly. There was in Conway's look even a something of bold defiance, that seemed to say, “I dare and defy you!” so at least did Classon read it, and quailed before its haughty meaning. “What wretched cowardice is over me, and at a time when minutes are worth days!” muttered Classon. “Here goes!” But now a confused noise of many voices, and the steps of advancing feet were heard in the corridor; and Classon sank down beside the bed, a cold sweat covering his forehead and face, while he trembled in every limb. The room was speedily filled with staff officers and surgeons, in the midst of whom was a civilian, travel-stained and tired-looking, who pressed eagerly forward, saying, as he beheld Classon, “Who is this man,--what is he doing here?”