He knew that two armed men stood guard in the outer room day and night. The door to the stairway leading into the armourer's shop was of iron and heavily barred; the door opening into the sewer was even more securely bolted; besides, there was a great stone door at the foot of the passage. The keys to these two doors were never out of the possession of William Spantz; one of his guards held the key to the stairway door. His only chance lay in his ability to suddenly overpower two men and make off by way of the armourer's shop.
When his little door was opened on the morning of the 23d, Truxton King's long, powerful figure shot through as if sped by a catapult. The man with the candle and the knife went down like a beef, floored by a blow on the jaw.
The American, his eyes blazing with hope and desperation, kept onward--to find himself face to face with Olga Platanova!
She was staring at him with frightened eyes, her lips apart, her hands to her breast. The tableau was brief. He could not strike her down. With a curse he was turning to the man on the floor, eager to snatch the keys from his belt. A scream from her drawn lips held him; he whirled and looked into the now haggard face of the girl he had considered beautiful. The penalty for her crime was already written there. She was to die in three days!
"He has not the key!" she cried. "Nor have I. You have no chance to escape. Go back! Go back! They are coming!"
A key rattled in the door. When it swung open, two men stood in the aperture, both with drawn pistols. The girl leaped between them and the helpless, defeated American.
"Remember!" she cried. "You are not to kill him!"
Peter Brutus had risen from the floor, half dazed but furious. He made a vicious leap at King, his knife ready for the lunge.
"I'm glad it's you," roared King, leaping aside. His fist shot out and again Brutus went down. The men in the doorway actually laughed.
"A good blow, even if it avails you nothing," said one of them drily. "He is not an especial favorite with us. Return to your room at once. Miss Platanova, call your uncle. It is now necessary to bind the fellow's hands. They are too dangerous to be allowed to roam at large in this fashion."
All day long Truxton paced his little prison, bitterly lamenting his ill-timed effort. Now he would be even more carefully guarded. His hands were bound behind his back; he was powerless. If he had only waited! Luck had been against him. How was he to know that the guard with the keys had gone upstairs when Olga brought his breakfast down? It was fate.