“Let you come to me?” I cried, in amazement. “Gladly, but how?”
I could hear him laughing to himself.
“Did you think that I spent a year of my life here for nothing?” he asked. “The slab at the corner of your cell is loose and can easily be raised.”
I was panting with excitement. So this was how his voice could reach me!
“A moment!” I cried, and my fingers groped for the loosened slab. It was soon found, but how to raise it was a question, for I could get no hold of it. In an instant I had torn the buckle from my shoe and inserted its edge into the crack. I pried the stone up, but a dozen times it slipped back before I could arrest it. Finally I raised it half an inch, grasped the edge with desperate fingers, and with an effort which made my muscles crack tilted it up. I looked into the hole, but could see nothing.
“The slab is out, monsieur,” I called.
“Good,” said Richelieu, and then there was an instant’s pause. “Now,” he went on, at last, “as I raise this other stone do you slide it back out of the way.”
In a moment it was done, and I found myself looking down into his eyes, so near they almost startled me, for he had placed his chair upon his bench and was standing on it.
“The guard will be back,” he said. “Bring your bench to the corner and lie down upon it.”
I did as he directed, and saw that he had jumped down from his chair and was walking carelessly about his cell. Again the sentry reached the door, paused an instant to glance within, and then went on his round.