No matter.He determined to cross the Rubicon.He traversed the street and disappeared into the cavernous alley, shortly to loom up in the deserted courtyard of the hotel.He counted the windows on the first floor and stopped at the fourth.That was the window he must enter.Noiselessly he crept along the walls, stopping now and then to listen.There was no sound except the monotonous dripping of the rain, which was growing thinner and colder.
Presently he came across the ladder he was seeking.He raised it to the required height, and once more placed his hand to his ear.
Silence.He mounted the rounds to the window, which he found unfastened.In another moment he was in the room.Not an object could he see, so deep was the darkness.If he moved without light he was likely to stumble, and heydey to his fifty crowns, not to say his liberty for many days to come.He carefully drew the blinds and struck a match.The first object which met his gaze was a fallen candle.This he lit and when the glare of the flame softened, all the corners of the room stood out.Nowhere was there any sign of a gun.He gave vent to a half-muttered curse.Some one had pilfered the gun, or the proprietor was keeping it until the Englishman returned from the duchy.But he remembered that there were two guns, one of which the Englishman did not use in the hunting expeditions.
So he began a thorough search.It meant fifty crowns, green baize and the whims of fortune.Cautiously he moved between the fallen chairs.He looked behind the bed, under the dresser, but without success.His hand closed savagely around the candle, and he swore inaudibly.He threw back the bed coverings, not that he expected to find anything, but because he could vent his rage on these silent, noiseless things.When he lifted the mattress it was then he took a deep breath and smiled.What he saw was a gun case.He drew it from under.It was heavy; his fifty crowns were inside.Next he picked up a candlestick and stuffed the candle into it, and laid a quilt against the threshold of the door so that no light would pierce the corridor.
"This is the gun the Englishman did not use in the hunting expeditions," he thought."If it is out of repair, as he said it was, my fifty crowns are not so many pfennige.The devil! it must be a valuable piece of gunsmithing, to hide it under the bedclothes.Let me see if my crowns are for the picking."He investigated forthwith.The hammers and the triggers worked smoothly.He unlocked the breech and held the nozzles toward the candle light --and again cursed.The barrels were clogged up.
Notwithstanding, he plucked forth the cleaning-rod and forced it into one of the tubes.There was a slight resistance, and something fluttered to the floor and rolled about.The second tube was treated likewise, with the same result.Johann laughed silently.The fifty crowns were tangible; he could hear them jingling in his pocket, and a pretty music they made.He returned the leather case to its original place and devoted his attention to the cylinder-shaped papers on the floor.
