M. Étienne, across the room at a leap, drove his knife through the hand, nailing it to the wood. On the instant he recognized its owner.
"Good morning, Peyrot. We've recovered the packet."
Not waiting for further amenities, I seized my lord and dashed him into the front room, only a faint hope to lead me, but the oaths of the bravos a good spur. And, St. Quentin be thanked, there in the garret window were Jacques and his tapsters, pushing a ladder to us.
"Go, monsieur! There are four behind us. Go!"
"You first!"
But I, who had snatched up his sword as he stabbed Lucas, ran back to guard the door. He had the sense to see there was no good arguing. Crying, "Quick after me, Félix!" he crawled out on the ladder.
Peyrot was released. Another blow from the ram, and the door fell to finders. They leaped in over the table like a freshet over a dam. I darted to the window. M. Étienne was in the garret, helping hold the ladder for me. I flung myself upon it all too eagerly. Like a lath it snapped.