Heinrich crossed the road, his form dimly showing in the darkness, and the others followed, swaying and staggering with the wind, the forester more than once beating against the wall while carrying Margaret's sick mother.
Heinrich moved down an alley, going slowly, each holding out a hand to either side to keep in touch with the wall, and feeling with their feet, not to trip over any projecting doorstep. No harm came, and then the alley was left behind.
Where they were none knew, save Heinrich, for the darkness was dense, and the street into which they emerged was like so many others, narrow and tortuous, with the wind screeching along and causing the swinging signs to creak and scream as they moved before the blast.
"As straight across the street as you can go," said Heinrich aloud, and even then they barely heard him in the roar of the wind and the pelting rain. He moved forward, but staggered, and, his frail form unable to withstand the rush of wind, he fell heavily on the stones.
"Art hurt?" Byrckmann asked anxiously, stretching out a hand to help the poor fellow to his feet.
"Not much. Only bruised a bit. But that won't count," he added cheerfully. "Come along."
They reached the other side of the street, but, going past the door of an empty house, Heinrich led them down a side passage and halted in comparative calm at a doorway.
"We are here," he said, when they had again grouped about him. "And here, please God, we shall find respite from the wind and rain, and, better still, confound that monster, Cochlaeus."
He chuckled as he pulled a key from his bosom, and, telling them to go carefully and turn a little to the right when they were once inside, he waited for them to file in, standing like one on guard at the doorstep to keep out any intruders.
"Feel your way!" he exclaimed, when he had closed and bolted the door on the inside. "We dare not show a light on this side of the house. Put out your hands, and that will help you. Ready? I'll count the steps I take. One, two, three."