“Very good, monsieur,” I answered, and saluting, we hurried down the steps, exchanging the pass-word with the two guards who were mounting to relieve us. Luckily we knew the location of the governor’s office. The darkness favored us, and at the magic words Montjoy and St. Denis the drawbridge was lowered and the gates were opened into the outer court.
“This way,” said Richelieu, “and pray heaven he be alone.”
We hastened towards a lighted window, which we could see distinctly through the darkness. Richelieu peered into the room.
“It is he,” he whispered. “He is sitting at a table writing, with his back to the door. I think he is alone. We must surprise him. Are you ready?” and he drew his dagger from his belt.
“Yes,” I said, “I am quite ready,” and I also drew my dagger.
He opened the door noiselessly, and we entered quickly. I shot the bolts into place, and with one spring Richelieu was at the side of Maison-Rouge, his poniard against his throat.
“One sound, one movement,” he said, between his teeth, “and you are a dead man, monsieur.”
Maison-Rouge looked around with a start, felt the dagger against his neck, and like a discreet man remained silent, his face impassive as ever.
“Now, de Brancas, quick. A gag and some rope.” I found both without difficulty. “We forget the window,” cried Richelieu, suddenly. “Close it, man.” I closed the iron shutter so that not a ray of light could be seen from without, and Maison-Rouge was soon secured.
“Now,” said Richelieu, “let us go.”