There was not a second to be lost. Mirrab, realizing her danger, was sobered and alert. The next moment she was clinging to the window-sill and measuring its height from the terrace below. It was but a few feet. As agile as a cat she flung herself over, and disappeared into the gloom just as the door leading into the audience chamber was thrown violently open, and a group of people--gentlemen, guard, servitors--bearing torches came rushing into the room. "Water! . . . a leech!--quick, some of you!" commanded Wessex, who held Don Miguel's head propped against his knee. "What is it? . . ." queried every one with unanimous breath. Some pressed forward, snatching the flaming torches from the hands of the servitors. In a moment Wessex and the dead Marquis were surrounded, and the room flooded with weird, flickering light. From the door of the apartments on the left a suave and urbane voice had sounded softly-- "What is it?" "The Spanish Marquis," murmured the foremost man in the crowd. "Wounded?" queried another. "Nay! I fear me dead," said Wessex quietly. Then the groups parted instinctively, for the same urbane voice had repeated its query in tones of the gravest anxiety. "I was at prayers, and heard this noise. . . . What is it?" The Cardinal de Moreno now stood beside the dead body of his friend. "Your Grace! and? . . ." "Alas, Your Eminence!" replied Wessex, "Don Miguel de Suarez is dead." [Illustration: "Alas, Your Eminence! Don Miguel de Suarez is dead."] The Cardinal made no comment, and the next moment was seen to stoop and pick up something from the ground. "But how?" queried one of the gentlemen. "A duel?" added another. "No, not a duel, seemingly," said His Eminence softly. "Don Miguel's sword and dagger are both sheathed." He turned to the captain of the guard, who was standing close beside him. "Will this dagger explain the mystery, think you, my son?" he asked, handing a small weapon to the soldier. "I picked it up just now." The guard--he was but a young man--took the dagger from His Eminence's hand, and looked at it attentively. Those who were nearest to him noticed that he suddenly started, and that the hand which held the narrow pointed blade trembled visibly. "Your Grace's dagger!" he said at last, handing the weapon to Wessex. "It has Your Grace's arms upon the hilt." Dead silence followed these simple words. The Duke seemed half dazed, and mechanically took the dagger from the captain's hand; the blade still bore on it the marks of Don Miguel's blood. "Yes! it is my dagger," he murmured mechanically. "But no doubt Your Grace can explain . . ." suggested His Eminence indulgently. Wessex was about to reply when one of the guard suddenly interposed. "I seemed to see a woman flying through the gardens just now, captain," he said, addressing his officer. "A woman?" asked His Eminence. "What woman?"