I wish I had seen his face then! Did he frown or smile?
Was triumph or chagrin uppermost?
Remorse?
Not he! He reached the door and passed through.

That was the last Herbert saw of him; but the fourth actor in the drama, the wordless player whose part had been so momentous, took the stage.

Limping along, now whining in sharp agony, now growling in fierce anger, with blood flowing but hair bristling, the hound Boris dragged himself across the room, through the door, after Rupert of Hentzau.

Herbert listened, raising his head from the ground.

There was a growl, an oath, the sound of the scuffle.