“Damn it,” he shouted, “why aren’t you chasing that guy?”

There was a brief silence, fraught with emotion.

“I ought to let your head bounce off the floor,” I said, finally.

“Damn, damn damn. To fall for a hoary old trick like that…. Damn.”

“If you’re restraining your language on my account, don’t,” I said, helping him up. “Can you make it back to the Schloss? No point hanging around here.”

“Oh, sure. The principal damage is to my inflated ego.”

That was an exaggeration. He was feeling poorly, and our progress was slow. With Tony leaning heavily on me, I began to feel my own age, and I was looking forward to going to bed. But when we reached the Schloss it was evident that I was still some distance from that indulgence. Our corridor was wide awake. The first person we saw was George, and the sight of his flushed, grim face told us something serious had happened.

“What’s up?” Tony asked.

“Schmidt. He’s dead.”

“Dead!” Tony tried to enter Schmidt’s room, but George’s arm barred the door.

“Don’t go in yet.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve seen a lot of dead men,” said George, “but I never saw one who looked like that.”

“Stop talking like The Monk,” I said sharply. “What happened?”

George fumbled in his pocket and located a cigarette and matches. He looked at them blankly, as if he had forgotten what to do with them.

“I heard him scream,” he said. “What a sound…The Gräfin heard it too. She was in the hall when I came out of my room. I went through Schmidt’s door like a bulldozer. It wasn’t locked. Schmidt was sitting up in bed facing the window. The lamp by the bed was lit. He didn’t look at us, not even when the door crashed open. He was looking at the window. He never looked at us at all. He just kept staring…at the window. Then he keeled over.”

George was perspiring. His shirt clung to his broad chest.

All eyes turned toward the windows, which were open to admit the night air.

I pushed George aside. Without looking at the motionless form on the bed, I crossed the room, and leaned out the window. The distance between it and the window of Tony’s room was a good twenty feet. To the left, at an even greater distance, were the windows of the neighboring guest chamber. There were no windowsills. The outer panes were flush with the stones of the wall. Below was a stretch of blank wall reaching down to the foundations.

I craned my neck and looked up toward the sloping eaves of the roof. A very tall man, standing on the window ledge, might have been able to touch the edge of the roof with his fingertips. I might have done it myself. I’d have hated to try.