"Dress quickly!" he cried to his friends. "We have not a minute to lose. I have settled some of them by springing the staircase trap, but the street door is open, and there may be others."
He set the example himself by pulling on his clothes with extraordinary rapidity. Vernet and Fulton darted off, and I was left in the care of Beudant, the only one who was completely attired. If my arms had been free, I would have tried conclusions with the negro. As it was, I helplessly waited, gnawing my lip and silently cursing at my folly. At the end of a few minutes a bell began to tinkle in a distant portion of the house. Sir Charles Venner started at the sound, and paused for a moment, intently listening. The bell rang again. Sir Charles threw a cloak across his shoulders and tip-toed to the door.
"Hola! within there," cried a raucous voice in French.
"All right!" shouted Sir Charles. "We'll be with you in a moment; wait!"
I smiled grimly. For I understood, while my enemy did not. Some passing policeman, observing the street door open, had rung the bell in order to inform the household of its carelessness. Sir Charles Vernier, however, believed that one of my agents had called out to his confrères, who had already entered. A moment later Vernet and Fulton reappeared, dressed as though for a journey. Sir Charles then stepped behind me and put his pistol to my ear. "Allons!" he muttered, "and tread softly, if you wish to live."
Obeying the guidance of a heavy hand that gripped my shoulder, I marched from the room and began to climb the staircase towards the third storey. The whole house was now wrapped in impenetrable darkness. My captors, however, appeared to know the way very well, and I was forced without a pause along a maze of corridors, until we were brought up by a wall. A match was cautiously struck, and we entered a small unfurnished room, the door of which was locked behind us. In the middle of this apartment was a ladder that communicated with the roof. Beudant climbed it with the agility of a monkey and raised a trap in the skylight, through which we all passed in quick succession. As I emerged and stood erect, I saw a sight I shall not easily forget—the magnificent panorama of sleeping Paris. And yet Paris did not seem to sleep. True, the night was dark, but in whatever direction I glanced, I was confronted with myriads of twinkling lamps that gleamed at me like so many intelligent and baneful little eyes. I was given but little time to digest the picture. Before the muzzle of Sir Charles Venner's revolver I crossed a slightly sloping roof of lead, and stepped over a knee-high parapet of stone. Thence we traversed the tops of three other houses and came at length to a slightly lower edifice, which required some care to reach. Beudant slipped over first, and I was bodily lifted up by Fulton and Venner and dropped into his arms. The roof perilously sloped, and the journey filled me with tremors, for a mis-step meant such a destruction as is entailed by a fall of sixty feet upon a line of iron-spiked railings. But death faced me on every side, so I set my lips and strode forward. By great good hap I negotiated the pass in safety, and came to a small, square ledge that was faced with an attic door, covered with a tiny gabled roof. A moment later we were all standing in a long low ceiled chamber, into which we had been admitted by a hideous old beldame. This creature received us with chuckles of sardonic satisfaction, and at once began to haggle with Sir Charles Venner for a large sum of money which she claimed to be her due. He tried to silence her by offering half the amount demanded, but she indignantly declined and threatened to scream. He therefore yielded and gave her his purse. But while she counted the money he turned his back, and taking a phial from his pocket poured its contents on his handkerchief. At a sign Beudant took the handkerchief, and, throwing himself upon the old hag, pressed it tightly to her nostrils. She struggled like a fury, but the negro mastered her, and very soon afterwards she was lying insensible upon the floor. I was watching Sir Charles wrest from her clenched hand his purse, when a terrible blow on my skull deprived me of consciousness.
When I awoke I thought at first I must have died in my sleep and have been thrust into hell. Every fibre of my being was racked with pain. Darkness encompassed me. With every breath I drew I was sickened with noxious odours, and I could not move a muscle. I tried to cry out, but could not utter a sound. An iron wedge had been driven deep into my mouth. My limbs were bound, and I was tightly enclosed, in a doubled-up position, in a square box. I lay upon my back and my knees were trussed up across my chest so that my chin almost touched them. I discovered these details slowly, one by one, and gradually awoke to the fact that I was still alive. For a little while I was glad to know that, but with the passing hours I prayed for death to end my tortures. Sometimes I swooned. On awakening I invariably heard a monotonous rumbling sound that was occasionally relieved by long, shrill screams. It occurred to me at last that I was being borne along upon a cart, the axles of which badly needed oiling. I had at first mistaken their screaming for the lamentations of lost souls. Thirst was my greatest agony. It always increased, while my other pains with time grew numb. Each time I fainted I hailed the swoon as kindly coming death, and for a brief moment I was happy. My recoveries were accursed periods of anguish. But I think my trances of insensibility grew ever longer as my strength wore out. However that may be, I began at length to dream, and I ceased to be able to distinguish between sleeping and waking or even to feel much pain. Then all of a sudden I felt a rush of cool air on my brow, and I looked up into a sky full of stars. Water was dashed on my face. The gag was taken from my mouth and I was given to drink. Someone clutched my arm and I shrieked aloud. I was forced, still shrieking, to my feet, and dragged by those I could not see through a plantation of tall and stately pines. I swooned again. And once more I awoke to find myself lying fully dressed, but free, upon a bed of down in a cool and pleasant room. It was morning. Through an open window near my couch I could see a wilderness of distant tree tops, larches, pines, and firs, and more dimly between and above their branches a range of hills beyond. A slant bar of sunlight streamed into my chamber and, falling on the floor a dozen feet away, marked out a golden pattern on the carpet. Against the farther wall was a book-case filled with volumes and an escritoire. A comfortable lounge chair stood near the bed. I saw also a heavy mahogany clothes press that was furnished with mirror-backed doors. So totally unprepared was I to encounter so gentle an experience that I rubbed my eyes to make sure that I was not still dreaming. The exercise obliged me to discover that my limbs were frightfully stiff and cramped. I was not long content, however, to allow my curiosity to remain unsatisfied. By dint of a good deal of exertion, and at the expense of many a sharp thrill of pain, I climbed from the bed and essayed to rise. After a few thoughts I succeeded, and then feeling dizzy, I managed to totter to a chair. I had hardly sat down when the door opened and Sir Charles Venner stood before me.
"Good morning, Mr. Hume," said he, in quite a genial voice. "I am glad to find you so much better after your distressing journey here!"
"Are you?" I muttered stupidly. I was overcome with surprise at his curious change of manner.
"Indeed, yes," he replied, and he smiled. "Do you feel well enough for breakfast?"