"The men below!"
There was a swift rush for the stairs, while one man hastily re-closed the shutters. Another was leaning over the banisters, trying to learn the truth.
"White-Beak!" he called. "Is that you? What does it mean?"
"That the police are on us!" was the gruff reply.
"The police!" shouted those above. "Why, the Corsican is dead and——"
"Hark!" came peremptorily from the men.
And all the conspirators held their breath, listening. The sound was unmistakable; a number of men were outside the door. Quick words of command could be heard; the clanging of steel and the snorting and pawing of horses.
"But the usurper is dead!" glided as a reassuring cry from a woman's lips.
"He is not dead!" retorted Blue-Heart firmly.
"Not dead? But the explosion—the fire——"