Grasping the weapon, Billet dashed into a stairway, conducted by the warder. The latter stopped before a door.
"This is No. Three, Bertaudiere Tower," said he.
"Is the prisoner here, Dr. Gilbert?"
"Don't know the names."
"Only put here a few days ago?"
"Don't know."
"Well, I shall," rejoined the farmer, attacking the door with the ax.
It was of oak, but the splinters flew freely under the chops of the vigorous yeoman. In a short time one could peep into the room. Billet looked in at the cleft. In the beam of light from a grated window in the yard a man was visible in the cell, standing a little back, holding one of his bedslates, he was in the attitude of defense, ready to knock down any one intruding.
Spite of his long beard, pale face and his hair being close cropped, Billet recognized Gilbert.
"Doctor, doctor, is it you? It is Billet who calls, your friend."