“Neither do I, my lord; oh, neither do I; but—­ would you fancy a dram?”

“Not for me, I zank you,” said his lordship stiffly.

Blessing the foresight of Mr. Rentoul, his host unscrewed his flask and had a generous swig.  As he was screwing on the top again, the Baron, in a less haughty voice, whispered

“Perhaps jost vun leetle taste.”

They felt now for a few minutes more aggressively disposed.

“Ve need not have ze curtain shut,” said the Baron.  “Soppose you do draw him?”

Through the gloom Mr. Gallosh took one or two faltering steps.

“Man, it’s awful hard to see one’s way,” he said nervously.

The Baron took the candle, and with a martial stride escorted him to the window.  They pulled aside one corner of the heavy curtain, and then let it fall again and hurried back.  So far north there was indeed a gleam of daylight left, but it was such a pale and ghostly ray, and the wreaths of mist swept so eerily and silently across the pane, that candle-light and shadows seemed vastly preferable.

“How much more time will there be?” whispered Mr. Gallosh presently.

“It is twenty-five minutes to twelve.”

“Your lordship!  Can we leave at twelve?”

The Baron started.

“Oh, Himmel!” he exclaimed.  “Vy did I not realize before?  If nozing comes—­and nozing vill come—­ve most stay till one, I soppose.”

Mr. Gallosh emitted something like a groan.

“Oh my, and that candle will not last more than half an hour at the most!”

“Teufel!” said the Baron.  “It vas Bonker did give him to me.  He might have made a more proper calculation.”

The prospect was now gloomy indeed.  An hour of candle-light had been bad, but an hour of pitch darkness or of mist wreaths would be many times worse.

“A wee tastie more, my lord?” Mr. Gallosh suggested, in a voice whose vibrations he made an effort to conceal.

“Jost a vee,” said his lordship, hardly more firmly.

With a dismal disregard for their suspense the minutes dragged infinitely slowly.  The flask was finished; the candle guttered and flickered ominously; the very shadows grew restless.

“There’s a lot of secret doors and such like in this part of the house—­let’s hope there’ll be nothing coming through one of them,” said Mr. Gallosh in a breaking voice.

The Baron muttered an inaudible reply, and then with a start their shoulders bumped together.

“Damn it, what’s yon!” whispered Mr. Gallosh.

“Ze pipes!  Gallosh, how beastly he does play!”

In point of fact the air seemed to consist of only one wailing note.

“Bong!”—­they heard the first stroke of midnight on the big clock on the Castle Tower; and so unfortunately had Count Bunker timed the candle that on the instant its flame expired.

“Vithdraw ze curtains!” gasped the Baron.