It was with an eerie feeling of ghostly reminiscence that Matthew walked along the darkened passageway behind Sabina, who, behind her father, trailed the ethereal figure of Old Eppie, carrying a candle which lit up her wild white hair and appearing in almost every detail the exact personification of the ghost in his dream of two years earlier. He could hardly believe this whole reenactment wasn’t a new dream, yet the soft voices of his father and Frau von Dortmann whispering behind him confirmed otherwise.

Almost at the precise place he expected, suddenly Eppie stopped.

She turned first to the right, then to the left, seeming to expect to find an opening.

“The door… it should be…” she mumbled, though he could barely make out her words.

She handed the candle to the baron, then proceeded to feel about the walls, obviously growing confused.

The baron spoke to her, but without effect. She took the candle and continued on, more hesitantly now, still glancing back and forth as if expecting to come upon an opening. At length they all reached the end and gathered into the empty, earthy cellar room at the north end that Sabina referred to as the icehouse.

Confused, Eppie continued to glance about.

“This is not the dungeon,” she said. “The table should be there—”

As she spoke she pointed with her finger.

“And the body of the count has been moved… we must tell the chancellor. The traitor may be on the loose again! We must tell him, Baron!”

“I’ll see to it, Eppie,” said the baron. “I’ll make sure word gets to him tomorrow.”

“And the gold—it must be guarded, for the sake of the Prussian empire! The Austrians mustn’t be allowed to find it! Nor the count. He is an evil man… they are all evil, the count and the Austrians!”

“We will take precautions, Eppie,” assured the baron. “But it is late now. I think it is time we were all returning to our rooms for the night.”

He took her gently by the arm and led her back the way they had come.

Once Marion had seen Eppie safely to her room and was assured she was resting comfortably after the excitable state her mind was in, she returned downstairs to the Gute Stube, where the baron had taken the others. As she entered they were still discussing Eppie’s remarkable tale about Bismarck’s visit to Lebenshaus. They had heard snatches of the story previously, but never in quite so complete a narrative.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, a few yawns and glances at watches were sufficient to bring the unforgettable evening to a close. It was quite late.

The five friends rose and slowly climbed the grand circular staircase together. The baron and his wife turned left, Thaddeus McCallum to his right, toward their respective rooms.

“Thank you for everything, Heinrich… Marion,” said Thaddeus.

“Good night, Thaddeus,” returned Marion.