Her gown
was of red stuff. Perhaps it was of velvet like the cap. It was hitched
up with a cord and girdle, with tassels of gold lace and--and--Sir Karl,
you are not listening."
"I am listening," I replied. "I am greatly interested. Her gown--she
wore a gown--she wore a gown--"
"Yes, of course she wore a gown," laughingly retorted Hymbercourt. "Your
lagging attention is what I deserve, Sir Karl, for trying in my lame
fashion to describe a woman's gear to a man who is half priest, half
warrior. I do not wonder that you did not follow me."
I had heard him, but there was another question dinning in my ears so
loudly that it drowned all other sounds--"Who is Yolanda?"
Yolanda was entering the door of the House under the Wall less than five
minutes before I saw the duke pass through the Postern. Marcus Grote had
told me there were but two openings to the castle, the Postern and the
great gate on the other side of the castle by the donjon keep. To reach
the great gate one must pass out by Cambrai or the Somme Gate and go
around the city walls--an hour's journey.
With an air of carelessness I asked Hymbercourt concerning the various
entrances to the castle. He confirmed what Grote had said. Considering
all the facts, I was forced to this conclusion: If the Princess Mary had
met the duke at the Postern, Yolanda was not the Princess Mary.
The next day I reconnoitred the premises, and again reached the
conclusion that Yolanda could not have met the duke inside the Postern
unless she were a witch with wings that could fly thither over the
castle walls; ergo, she was not the princess.
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