The opening into a branch passage, leading to another part of the mansion, lay between Ziegler and the muniment room, and there was a bare chance that he might turn in that direction. In reality he had to advance but a few steps before the point could be settled, but it seemed a whole æon to the Duke, and, to add to the tension of his nerves, another pebble struck the window. All hope of being able to preserve his secret had fled now, and Beaumanoir strove to concentrate his reeling brain on how best to summon assistance and ward off an attack on the safe. If only he knew who that was throwing up stones from outside—whether friend or foe—he could decide whether to run to the window and open it or leave it alone. He dared not act in ignorance, possibly to admit a third adversary. The window was ten feet from the ground, but the wall was covered with gnarled ivy stems up which an active man could readily climb. While he was hesitating the matter was arranged for him. There was no time to reach the window, for Ziegler passed the branch corridor without as much as looking at it, and was coming straight on to the muniment room. Beaumanoir raised his revolver, but lowered it again, incapable of shooting a fellow-creature in cold blood, and also fascinated by a horrible curiosity to learn the intruder’s intention. He could not as yet be absolutely certain that Ziegler knew that the bonds were in the safe. He would wait till it was attacked before he made a counter-move. In this mind he slipped behind a huge oak press laden with expired leases, and had hardly ensconced himself when Ziegler entered the room, followed, to Beaumanoir’s surprise, by a woman, whom he did not recognize, in the faint light diffused from the corridor, as Rosa, Mrs. Talmage Eglinton’s French maid. The shadowy figures—that of the frail old man and of the trim soubrette—stood motionless and silent just within the doorway, evidently mastering the landmarks of the room. Then, at a whisper from Ziegler, the maid glided with a nod of comprehension to the nearest window, and was busy with the hasp when the rattle of still another pebble on the glass accelerated her movements. She swung the casement outwards, and in a muffled voice called down: "’Tis ze right room. You are to come oop." A rustling noise, as of foliage shaken, rising from below warned the Duke that if he waited longer he might be beset by a horde of assailants. It spurred him to instant action. Set in the wall close to his place of concealment was the switch of the electric light, and stretching out his left hand he turned it on, at the same time stepping forward and covering Ziegler with his pistol. The old man blinked at him in the sudden glow, and then, quietly turning, shut the door. His object must have been to prevent his voice penetrating into the house, for he croaked out to the Frenchwoman by the window the petulant order: "Tell Benzon to hurry."