We went in and out of half-a-dozen doors,
and traversed as many small courtyards.
The buildings surrounding them were all in
a handsome style of architecture; and in one
of them I could discern, through the open
grated windows on the ground floor, several
men in white caps and jackets. A distant
row of copper stewpans, and a delicious
odour, made me conjecture that we were
close to the kitchen. We stopped some
moments in this neighbourhood; whether
from previous orders, or from pure malignity
towards me, I was unable then to tell.
He glanced over his shoulder with an expression
of such infinite malice, that what with
hunger and rage I struggled violently but
unsuccessfully to burst from my guards. At
last we ascended a narrow but handsomely
carpeted staircase; and, after traversing a
splendid picture gallery, entered an apartment
luxuriously furnished; half library and
half drawing-room.

A cheerful wood fire crackled on the dogs
in the fireplace; and, with his back towards
it, stood a tall elderly man, his thin grey hair
carefully brushed over his forehead. He was
dressed in black, had a stiff white neckcloth,
and a parti-coloured ribbon at his buttonhole.
A few feet from him was a table, covered
with books and papers; and sitting thereat
in a large arm-chair, was an old man,
immensely corpulent, swathed in a richly furred
dressing-gown, with a sort of jockey cap on
his head of black velvet, to which was
attached a hideous green shade. The servants
brought me to the foot of this table, still
holding my arms.

"Monsieur Müller," said the man in black,
politely, and in excellent English. "How do
you feel?"

I replied, indignantly, that the state of my
health was not the point in question. I
demanded to know why I had been trepanned,
robbed and starved.

"Monsieur Müller," returned the man in
black, with immovable politeness. "You must
excuse the apparently discourteous manner
in which you have been treated. The truth
is, our house was built, not for a prison, but
for a palace; and, for want of proper dungeon
accommodation, we were compelled to utilise
for the moment an apartment which I believe
was formerly a wine-cellar. I hope you did
not find it damp."

The man with the green shade shook his
fat shoulders, as if in silent laughter.

"In the first instance. Monsieur," resumed
the other, politely motioning me to be silent;
for I was about to speak, "we deemed that the
possession of the papers in your pocket-book"
(he touched that fatal book as he spoke)
"would have been sufficient for the
accomplishment of the object we have in view. But,
finding that a portion of the correspondence
is in a cipher of which you alone have the
key, we judged the pleasure of your company
absolutely indispensable."

"I know no more about the cipher and its
key than you do," I ejaculated, "and, before
heaven, no secret that can concern you is in
my keeping."

"You must be hungry. Monsieur Müller,"
pursued the man in black, taking no more
notice of what I had said than if I had not
spoken at all. "Carol, bring in lunch."

He, lately of the grey coat, now addressed as
Carol, bowed, retired, and presently returned
with a tray covered with smoking viands and
two flasks of wine. The servants half loosened
their hold; my heart leaped within me, and I
was about to rush towards the viands, when
the man in black raised his hand.

"One moment, Monsieur Müller," he said,
"before you recruit your strength. Will you
oblige me by answering one question, Where
is the child?"

"Ja, where is the child?" echoed the man
in the green shade.

"I do not know," I replied passionately;
"on my honour I do not know. If you were to
ask me for a hundred years, I could not tell you."

"Carol," said the man in black, with an
unmoved countenance, "take away the tray.
Monsieur Müller has no appetite. Unless,"
he added turning to me, "you will be so good
as to answer that little question."

"I cannot," I repeated; "I don't know,
I never knew."

"Carol," said my questioner, taking up a
newspaper, and turning his back upon me,
"take away the things. Monsieur Müller,
good morning."

In spite of my cries and struggles I was
dragged away. We traversed the picture
gallery; but, instead of descending the staircase,
entered another suite of apartments. We
were crossing a long vestibule lighted with
lamps, and one of my guards had stopped to
unlock a door while the other lagged a few
paces behind, (they had loosened their hold of
me, and Carol was not with us,) when a panel
in the wainscot opened, and a lady in black
—perhaps thirty years of age and beautiful—
bent forward through the aperture, "I heard
all," she said, in a rapid whisper. "You have
acted nobly. Be proof against their temptations,
and Heaven will reward your devotedness."

I had no time to reply, for the door was
closed immediately. I was hurried forward
through room after room; until at last we
entered a small bed-chamber simply, but
cleanly furnished. Here I was left, and the
door was locked and barred on the outside.
On the table were a small loaf of black bread,
and a pitcher of water. Both of these I
consumed ravenously.

I was left without further food for another
entire day and night. From my window,
which was heavily grated, I could see that
my room overlooked the court-yard where
the kitchen was, and the sight of the cooks,
and the smell of the hot meat drove me
almost mad.