I caught up a candle. But she was before me and had dropped on her knees beside him. In his fall he had rolled over on his side, and for a moment I supposed her to be busy loosening his collar. But no—as I held the candle close she was feeling in his pockets, and in the light of it she held up a bunch of keys.
'I am glad you did not kill him,' she said simply, rising from her knees. 'There was no need.'
'No need?' I repeated stupidly, swaying with weakness.
'You shall see.'
She slipped by me and from the room. I bent and loosened Sir Luke's collar, and essayed to lift him, but had to relinquish the effort and drop into a chair, where I sat staring at the fallen wreck. While I stared, still dizzy, I heard the voice of old Pascoe behind me.
'We can manage it, sir—I think—between us.' He stepped past me, and together we lifted his master and staggered with him to a couch, where he lay, breathing hard.
Pascoe motioned me back to my chair, where I sat and panted.
While I sat, she came back. I did not hear her approach, but only her voice whispering to me to come: and I followed her forth from the room and out into the corridor, and along the corridor to the porch as a man walking in his sleep.
There was a lantern by the porch, and in the light of it my horse stood, saddled and ready.
'You will take the road up the valley,' she said, 'and cross by the second bridge. The road beyond that bears due east and is unguarded.'