She had never been so fresh and joyful as today. So much so that it filled him with jealousy, with a passionate suspicion. He took her in his arms and pressed her to him. “No,” she defended herself, “don’t. Be reasonable. You are Prospero, the Prince of Zahur, and you’ve only disguised yourself as a magician in order to abduct me. I don’t know. But Prince Rhizopod has come for me from the Kingdom of Alicuri-Filicuri-Tintili-Rhododendron, a horrible, horrible man with a church candle instead of a nose and cold hands. Hu! And I’m just going to become his wife when you suddenly appear and say: ‘I’m the Magician Prospero, the hereditary Prince of Zahur.’ And my Uncle Metastasio will fall on your neck and they will begin to ring bells, blow trumpets and fire—”
Prokop realized well enough that her playful chatter conveyed something very, very important, so refrained from interrupting her. She kept her arm round his neck and rubbed her fragrant face against his rough one. “Or wait; I’m Princess of Zahur and you are the Great Prokopo-Kopak, King of Spirits. But I’m under a curse, they’ve said over me the words: ‘ore ore baléne, magot malista manigoléne’ and so I’m to be given to a fish, a fish with fishy eyes and fishy hands and fishy in its whole body, and he’s going to take me away to the fishes’ castle. And then the Great Prokopo-Kopak arrives on his magic carpet and carries me off—Au revoir!” she concluded suddenly and kissed him on the lips. She was still smiling, clear and rosy as she had never been before, and left him to brood gloomily over the ruins of Zahur. And in God’s name, what did it all mean? She clearly wanted him to help her; pressure was being put on her and she relied on him … expected him somehow to save her! Heavens! what was he to do?
Deep in thought, Prokop wandered back to the laboratory. Clearly … nothing was left but the Big Attack, but where was he to begin it? He had already reached the door and was feeling in his pocket for the key. Then he suddenly recoiled and broke into curses. The outer door of the building was barricaded with iron crosspieces. He pulled at them in a frenzy but could not move them.
To the door was affixed a piece of paper on which were the words: “In accordance with the instructions of the Civil Authorities this building is closed on account of having been used irregularly for storing explosives without the required precautions having been taken. Par. 216 & 217 d.lit. F tr.z. and No. 63,507. M. 1889.” Underneath was an illegible signature and below that, written with a pen, the words: “Mr. Eng. Prokop is to report at the quarters of Sgt. Gerstensen, Barrack No. III.”
Mr. Holz carefully examined the barricade with the eye of an expert but finally only whistled and thrust his hands into his pockets; there was absolutely nothing to be done. Prokop, white with rage, walked all round the building. The explosive trap had been dug up and, as before, there was a grille in front of each window. He hastily took stock of all his munitions; five small bombs in his pockets, four larger ones buried in the Zahur rampart; one could not do much with them. Beside himself with anger he hurried to the office of that cursed Carson: “Wait, you louse, and see what I’ll do with you!” But on arriving there he was told by a servant that the manager was away and was not returning. Prokop pushed him out of the way and penetrated into the office. Carson was not there. He quickly went through all the offices, causing consternation among all the officials, down to the girl at the telephone. Carson was nowhere to be seen.
Prokop ran back to the Zahur rampart, so that he could at least save his bombs. And then he found that the whole rampart, including the tangle of brushwood and the rubbish heap, was surrounded by a fence of barbed wire; a real entanglement of the type used in the War. He tried to loosen the wire but only succeeded in tearing his hands. Sobbing with anger he somehow succeeded in getting through it, to find that his four large bombs had been removed. He nearly cried with helplessness. To make matters worse an unpleasant drizzle began to fall. He crawled back, his clothes torn to rags and his hands and face bleeding, and hurried to the castle in the hope of finding there the Princess, Rohn, or the heir to the throne. In the vestibule he was stopped by the blonde giant he had encountered once before, who was determined this time to be torn to pieces rather than let him pass. Prokop took one of his little boxes of explosives out of his pocket and shook it threateningly. The giant blinked his eyes but did not yield. Suddenly he dashed forward and seized Prokop round the shoulders. Holz struck him in the chest with his revolver with all his strength. The giant roared and let go, and three men, who had appeared suddenly, as if out of the earth, and were about to hurl themselves on Prokop, hesitated for a moment and then stepped back against the wall. Prokop stood with the box in his raised hand, ready to throw it under the feet of the first one who moved, and Holz, who was definitely on the side of revolution, waited with his revolver ready. In front of them were four pale men, inclined a little forward, three of them with revolvers in their hands. There was evidently going to be a fight. Prokop moved strategically to the stairs and the four men also moved in the same direction. Behind, someone ran away. There was a deathly silence. “Don’t shoot,” whispered one of them sharply. Prokop could hear the ticking of his watch.
