Bel Menstal's face darkened. "Nonsense," he growled, rising part way out of his chair. "Witchcraft be damned! There's some explanation to this, and I'm going to find out what it is." "Yes, Excellency." The Baron looked up, then stared contemptuously at his man. "Yes, Excellency," he mimicked in a singsong voice. "Always 'Yes, Excellency.' Haven't you an idea of your own?" "Yes, Excellency, I----" "Inept fool! There's an explanation to this, I tell you. And peasant superstition has no part in it. You should have found it. But no! You came, dragging a whole detachment of guards in for me to question. Me, the Baron! I have to do all the work--all the thinking. I tell you, I want men about me who can think and act." He got out of his chair and circled the table, striding close to the steward. "I'll give you one more chance, Weron. Go out and find what happened to that money. I don't care how you do it, and I'm not going to be bothered with your petty details. But find out where that money has gone. Is that simple enough for you to understand?" "Yes, Excellency." Weron backed toward the door. "I'll----" Reckless fury shook Florel. Suddenly, he felt an irresistible craving for direct, violent action. He picked a dagger from his belt. "You're not only a fool," he shouted, "but a spineless one, as well. I think I'll have to get another steward. A good one." He raised the dagger, then paused. "Here, weakling. You'd like to use this, wouldn't you? But you lack the will. That's why you're a mere lackey." Abruptly, he threw the weapon at Weron. "Try it, fool. Try it, and see how a real man protects himself." He stalked toward the steward. The man cringed away, then, pressed by his master, suddenly sobbed with rage. He raised the dagger. Bel Menstal, protected by his body shield, brushed the stroke aside. "Ha!" He snatched the weapon. "You would try it?" Weron threw his arms before him, trying to ward off the blows, then slumped as the blade sank into his flesh. Bel Menstal struck the sagging body a few more times with the dagger, then threw the weapon on top of the inert form. "Ho, Guards," he shouted, flinging the door open. He went back to his chair and watched as the guards came in. In obedience to his gesture, they carried the one-time steward from the room. The door closed, and Bel Menstal was alone. Slowly, the stimulation of the encounter faded, and he shook his head. It had been pleasant for a few minutes, he thought, but he had solved nothing. Could it be that searchers from his native land had at last found him? He frowned. No, they wouldn't use some devious method, even supposing they could find some way of corrupting his household. They would simply expose him and accuse him before the Duke. They'd storm his castle if necessary, to take him by force. This was something else. He would have to think. He put his elbows on the table, cupping his face in his hands. * * * * *