“Thank you, my faithful Wallenrodt!” cried Adolphus Schwarzenberg, offering him his hand.  “I knew that I could count upon you, and, when the writing desk was found empty, knew that you had understood my glance.  But now, before we advise as to what is further to be done, let me examine these papers, for I do not exactly know whether they contain all that I would wish to conceal from Burgsdorf and my other enemies.  Step into that window recess, friends, and let me look over these papers.”

The two gentlemen retired into the deep window niche, and conversed together in whispers, while Count Adolphus rummaged over the papers with quick and nervous fingers.  Ever quicker, ever more nervous became the movements of his hand, ever darker grew his brow, ever more anxious his countenance.  As he laid aside the last sheet a sudden pallor overspread his face, and for a moment he leaned back in the fauteuil, quite faint and exhausted.

“Dearest sir!” cried the steward, hurrying toward him, “are not the papers all in order?”

“It is just as I feared,” said the count, sighing.  “My whole correspondence with my father, during my last sojourn at Regensburg, besides copies of my letters to the Emperor and Marwitz, were in the drawer of my father’s writing table, and have been carried off with the rest.”

“And did these letters compromise you, count?” asked Herr von Waldow, drawing nearer to him.

“With these letters in his hand, President von Goetze, the chairman of the committee of investigation, can arraign me as guilty of high treason and condemn me to death.”

A long pause ensued.  With gloomy countenances all three cast their eyes upon the ground.  Then the steward lifted up his head, with an expression of firm resolve.

“You must flee, gracious sir,” he cried earnestly.

“Flee?” repeated the count, shrugging his shoulders.  “Ah, you have not heard of what further happened after you withdrew to your place of concealment!”

“The whole palace is surrounded by soldiers,” completed Herr von Waldow.  “At each door stand two sentinels, and even at the park gate two guards are stationed.”

“You see plainly, Wallenrodt, that flight is impossible,” said the count.

The steward smiled.  “Through doors and windows you can not escape, in truth.  There is a third way, however.”

“What sort of way, Wallenrodt?”

“The secret passage, count.”

“I know of no secret passage.”

“But I do, count.  Your late revered father had this secret passage built at the time the cities revolted and the Swedes were threatening Berlin.  He had fifty workmen brought from Vienna, who were kept concealed in the palace, and worked every night upon this subterranean passage, and as soon as it was completed he had the men sent back to Austria.  It is not to be supposed that you should know anything of this, count, for it happened at least fifteen years ago, when you were but a lad.  While the work lasted the count resided at Spandow, taking all his household with him, that no one might know anything about the secret passage.  Only the old castellan and I remained behind, to overlook the work.  We were the only two besides the Stadtholder who knew the secret.  You must flee through the subterranean passage, gracious sir.”