INGENIOUS COLONEL STAFNITZ
Zerkovitch snatched out his watch.
"There's nobody here but Madame Zerkovitch, sir; she's still in bed, not very well, sir."
"Twelve o'clock!" muttered Zerkovitch, paying no heed to the news about his wife.
"The Baroness and Baron von Hollbrandt are out riding—"
"Can you give me a fresh horse? I must ride on and find the Prince at Volseni."
"Oh yes, sir." He signed to the groom. "And hurry up!" he added.
"The guard's here, of course?"
"No, sir. They've gone with the Prince."
Zerkovitch twitched his head irritably and again looked at his watch. "There must be time," he said.
"They can't be here at soonest for an hour and a half."
Peter Vassip did not understand him, but neither did he venture to ask questions.
"Your horse '11 be here in a minute, sir. I think you'll find the Prince in his office over the city gate. He went to do business, not to drill, this morning."
Zerkovitch looked at him for a moment, wondering, perhaps, whether he would be wise to tell his news. But what was the use of telling Peter Vassip? Or his own wife? What could she do? It was for the Prince to say who should be told. The one thing was to find the Prince. There was time—at the very least an hour and a half.
The groom brought the fresh horse, and Zerkovitch began to mount.
"A glass of wine, sir?" Peter Vassip suggested. He had marked Zerkovitch's pale face and strained air; he had wondered to see his clothes sprinkled with whitey-brown fibres—traces of the sack under whose cover he had slid out of Slavna.
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