"WE'LL HAVE TO leave right away!"  Macklin took Prestin's arm and began to drag him toward the window.

Prestin shook the hand off.  He felt even more bemused by the awful suggestion hurled at him by Macklin than by the man's evident dislike and fear of the Contessa.

"Why?" Prestin demanded.  "Why?"

"Because a locked door won't keep her and her Trugs out!  They'll be in here and lasso you like a capon for the oven.  Come on, boy!"

"I didn't mean that!  Why should Fritzy's disappearance be my fault?  Why?  What did I do?"

"You know, Prestin!  You know!  And the Contessa will manipulate you for her own black ends!  Come on, boy - you won't stand a chance against her!"

Resentment, stubbornness and sheer bloody-mindedness jangled in Prestin.  After his experiences he wanted to strike out and pay back some of his own guilt.

"Bob!"  The Contessa's voice purred from beyond the closed door.  The handle turned and shook.  "Bob!  You said the door would be ajar!  Open it up, there's a good boy."

Everyone was calling him "boy" all the time.  That annoyed Prestin.  It was a tiny focal point, but it was that.  It showed him all too clearly how he was regarded by these two people: He was a pawn in their games.

"That door stays locked," he told Macklin.  "And you go out by the window - alone.  I'm going to bed."

"You idiot."  Macklin half lifted his cane.  His dark eyes flashed toward the door.  It shook now with far more than a polite young Contessa's fragile hand butterflying the handle.  Weight was being applied out there.

"Listen to that!" Macklin snapped.  "If the Trugs get you, you'll -"

"Trugs!" said Prestin, with a sarcastic bite.  "And you can't stop to tell me about them either, can you!"

"I could.  But any minute they'll be here to tell you themselves."

A low groan shuddered from the door as the hinges and lock resisted the strain.  The Contessa had not spoken again.  Of course she knew by now that he had locked her out so the pressure being applied to open the door spoke more eloquently than words.

Suddenly, he felt afraid.

Trugs?

He looked at Macklin, now standing, leaning on his stick and regarding him with a saturnine scowl.

"Well, Bob?  I'm not hanging around to welcome those monsters the Montevarchi keeps as house pets!  If you won't come with me, I must make sure you are of no use to the opposition."

Prestin let out a shaky little laugh, the laugh of shock.  "You mean - youd kill me?  Oh, come now, Macklin -"