The latter had waited in silence whilst the whole of the assembly filed out by the door, but when Leatherface in his turn prepared to go, Laurence threw him such a look of appeal, that after an instant's hesitation, he too decided to wait.
Then when the last of the assembly had gone, Laurence tried to speak, but the words died in his throat ere they reached his quivering lips. There was still that look of mute appeal in his eyes, and of well-nigh unendurable mental torment in every line of his haggard face, and suddenly he gave a cry like some wounded creature in mortal pain; he fell on his knees against the table, and burying his face in his hands, he sobbed like a child. The other waited patiently and silently until the paroxysm was over: his mouth beneath the mask looked set but kindly, and his eyes through the holes in the leather were fixed upon the stricken man.
"She is safe from the vengeance of our people," he said, as soon as he saw that Laurence had momentarily regained his self-control. "Is that what troubles you, Messire?"
Laurence--already ashamed of his tears--had struggled to his feet. He passed his hand across his moist forehead and through his unruly hair, and tried to look Leatherface valiantly between the eyes.
"Partly that," he said resolutely. "But I'll not speak of her. It was she then who betrayed us all?" he added with another heartbroken cry.
To this Leatherface made no answer, and Laurence continued more calmly:
"It was of the lists I wish to speak. The papers which His Highness entrusted to my care."
"Yes?"
"I went to look for them after ... after she left the house, and found that they had gone."
"Then what did you do?"