"They are warned to be ready?"
"At your Highness's first word that slip of paper travels to Schlestadt.
It is unsigned, it imperils no one, it betrays nothing. But it will tell
its story none the less surely to those three men, for Gaydon knows my
hand."
The Prince smiled in approval.
"You have prudence, Mr. Warner, as well as audacity," said he. He gave
the paper back, listened for a little to the Countess, who was bending
over her harp-strings, and then remarked, "The Prince's letter was in
his own hand too?"
"But in cipher."
"Ah!"
The Prince was silent for a while. He balanced himself first on one
foot, then on the other.
"Ciphers," said he, "are curious things, compelling to the imagination
and a provocation to the intellect."
Mr. Wogan kept a grave face and he replied with unconcern, though his
heart beat quick; for if the Prince had so much desire to see the
Chevalier's letter, he must be well upon his way to consenting to
Wogan's plan.
"If your Highness will do me the honour to look at this cipher. It has
baffled the most expert."
His Highness condescended to be pleased with Wogan's suggestion. Wogan
crossed the room towards the door; but before he reached it, the
Countess of Berg suddenly took her fingers from her harp-strings with a
gesture of annoyance.
"Mr. Warner," she said, "will you do me the favour to screw this wire
tighter?" And once or twice she struck it with her fingers.
"May I claim that privilege?" said the Prince.
"Your Highness does me too much honour," said the Countess, but the
Prince was already at her side. At once she pointed out to him the
particular string. Wogan went from the room and up the great staircase.
He was lodged in a wing of the palace. From the head of the staircase he
proceeded down a long passage. Towards the end of this passage another
short passage branched off at a right angle on the left-hand side. At
the corner of the two passages stood a table with a lamp and some
candlesticks. This time Wogan took a candle, and lighting it at the lamp
turned into the short passage. It was dark but for the light of Wogan's
candle, and at the end of it facing him were two doors side by side.
Both doors were closed, and of these the one on the left gave onto his
room.
Wogan had walked perhaps halfway from the corner to his door before he
stopped. He stopped suddenly and held his breath. Then he shaded his
candle with the palm of his hand and looked forward. Immediately he
turned, and walking on tiptoe came silently back into the big passage.
Even this was not well lighted; it stretched away upon his right and
left, full of shadows. But it was silent. The only sounds which reached
Wogan as he stood there and listened were the sounds of people moving
and speaking at a great distance. He blew out his candle, cautiously
replaced it on the table, and crept down again towards his room. There
was no window in this small passage, there was no light there at all
except a gleam of silver in front of him and close to the ground. That
gleam of silver was the moonlight shining between the bottom of one of
the doors and the boards of the passage. And that door was not the door
of Wogan's room, but the room beside it. Where his door stood, there
might have been no door at all.